Poison
by Anlynne
Summary: Draco was not crazy, he was desperate. He loved her desperately. Harry should have arrested him and should have told Hermione the truth, but blackmail was Malfoy's new brand of bullying. As for Hermione... She wondered why everyone was acting so strange...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Dear Luna,_

_ I hope things are well with you in Nantucket. Ron misses you so, as do the rest of us._

_ As you probably know from their letters, Neville and Ginny are planning a fantastic trip to your current location since you complemented its beauty. They are in need of a good vacation. They both work hard._

_ Draco and I are well. After I send this letter off with Opa I am joining him for dinner at the manor. He says he has cooked all of the food but I think he's lying. That's just as well, I'm not fond of the idea of Draco being in the kitchen. He has scarce knowledge of the tools. Even with magic, it's alarming to think of him using them._

_ Thank you for sending these pictures of your trip. One is already hanging in my hallway with the others. It is between the one of us in our 6th Year outside Hagrid's hut, and one at Dean's pub. It brightens up my hallway with the brightly colored flowers and the sunset. It is lovely, Luna, and I'm sorry that you didn't catch any Burrbeans._

_ My last day of work was today and tomorrow I'm apparating to the beach. A fortnight ago I bought a house on a hill overlooking the coast. I'll send pictures of it to you soon. I plan to spend plenty of time there._

_ Good luck!_

_With Love,_

_Hermione_

Hermione rolled the parchment, tying it to her owl's leg, sending her off through the window before swiveling in her chair to face her bed. She looked thoughtfully at the outfit she laid there early that morning for her dinner with Draco. While the thought of lounging on a giant towel with waves crashing at her feet send her in euphoria, the thought of dinner with Draco sent her into a state of paranoia and disarray.

There was certainly nothing frightening about the ex-Death Eater anymore. Draco was a very different person. He owned a very successful business of seeling Quidditch supplies. He only took the highest priority problems and left the rest to a well-paid staff, which gave Draco too much time, but of course, he thought he had the best job, the best life, and that Hermione took on too much with her career as a lawyer, freeing slaves and giving equal opportunity to all creatures.

He Owl'ed her during her lunch. In his neat handwriting that was too aesthetic for a man, he said that he inspected his workhouse, had a meeting for a new broom, and it was their six-month anniversary and such a perfect day deserved celebration. She agreed wholeheartedly, but was beginning to have reservations.

Six months ago Draco and Hermione incidentally reunited at a magical fair in Bexley. He was there promoting a new invention and she was there for fun. And indeed, they had fun.

Draco in his usual black that contrasted so drastically with his pale features and hair, he abandoned his station to his assistant, Cook, when he spotted her. He gave her a great smile, one that she didn't know existed, but one that was Draco, for it was clear he had an agenda in mind. He said he had been there for an hour setting up a tent and insisted he tour her around and take her to every attraction. He was a right critic about every one of them, but in a way that made her smile. His criticism was funny, and while she had always been aware that he had a sense of humor (one that was crude and quite unfunny) she didn't realize it so personally, and it took her breath away. Draco was nice.

That was all it took. Draco was charming and clever, and clearly not the boy she fought in the war. So when he asked for one date she could not refuse.

That one date consisted of a day in a museum. It was the only magical museum in London. It included scraps of metal from the great Goblin War of 1812, and probable garments of past great Wizards and Witches, and there was a whole section about the bloody history of giants.

She assumed that Draco would be bored with it, although she knew that his marks were as good as hers in school, but he was just as interested as her, and they talked about each aspect over coffee and scones. They even talked of the architecture of the building, and when there was nothing to speak of, they spoke of how they had sat there, letting their coffee grow cold.

It was the perfect date and Hermione didn't believe in perfect things. The object of life was to live with flaws and improve oneself along the way, to learn. Yet, somehow Draco was teaching her more, that life could be a perfect balance, and that scared her. One of many things to scare her.

This new man scared her. Falling in love with Draco Malfoy worried Hermione a great deal. She was falling in love with him and the thought of being hurt... Again. It was almost too much.

She had loved Ron because he could make her smile and laugh, but while she danced around him, he fell in love with Luna. Somewhere between her commentary at the Quidditch matches in Hogwarts and at the Shell Cottage they took refuge in on the hunt for Horcruxes, they found happiness in each other. She wished Ron and Luna well, they were her best friends, and she was over Ron, but she did not want a repeat in history - no matter how well it ended, and she did not want to love Draco, but that mattered not. Somehow, he felt right. She could fight it all she want, but she knew it was best to give in. Her heart was already gone.

That scared Hermione all the more.

* * *

_Weaslette,_

_ Thank you for the Howler, but rest assured it was utterly wasted. I have no intentions to hurt Hermione and every intention to keep my "ruddy limbs" as you so quaintly called them._

_ I was mistaken in my belief that we had grown since our schooling. Please, no need to apologize, I will happily accept silence from you._

_Regards to your threatened bat-boogy hex,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Draco waved off his owl and rubbed his face anxiously, snapping his fingers over his ears. The damn she-Weasel had better not damaged his hearing - and so shortly before his date with Hermione at that.

They were an unlikely pair - him and Hermione. Sure, considering his raising she was below his blood status, but they were brilliant together. He recalled seeing her through the crowd, her uncontrollable brown hair pulled back into a bun, her rolled dress sleeves proof that she had come straight from the Ministry, but her lawyer stance was gone, her cheeks flushed and eyes excited. It was something Draco had never seen on her snobby face before (the fact that her snobbishness was worse than his was irrespective at best).

It wasn't a secret he had hated her. He was raised to believe he was better than everyone, and her besting him in every single subject didn't help his attitude toward her at all. In fact, he hated her almost as much as her best friends, Weasley and Potter. It was difficult to hate anyone as much as the Freckles-Without-Two-Knuts, and the Boy-Who-Would-Not-Die.

It was more than a defeat when Voldemort died. There was a defeat in himself. He had to change, and not just because of the loss; not because his parents had to change too, but because he was wrong. He had been wrong all along. Voldemort meant for him to die for his father's failures. Potter and Weasley saved his life. He could hate it all but Draco did lose and he was not going to wallow. Malfoy's didn't wallow in sadness.

Draco would never tell Hermione that there were whispers he was going to hurt her. She had to have been warned. It meant everything, her trust did. It shone in him, that he wasn't the villain any longer.

Nonetheless, he was determined to make up for seven years of torture. He loved Hermione from the moment he set eyes on her at that wretched boring fair, and he would do anything to keep her.

He stood from his desk, straightening his robes. He glanced at the time, the hands of the clock moving too fast for his liking. She would be arriving in less than ten minutes. He knew that because he told her 6:30 and it was 6:20, and she was never late.

Draco checked the dining room. A much smaller table had replaced the large one used for Death Eater meetings in what was supposed to be his 7th year. There were gold taper candles burning, steaming steak and potatoes on heated plates, and a chilled bottle of wine. His best wine.

While there were loads to celebrate (a great day and six extraordinary months together) there was something else Draco had up the sleeves of his robes. A proposal of sorts, a ornate key to all doors within the Manor, the one the woman of the Manor would have. He wanted Hermione to move in with him.

His parents had moved away to France, hating the stares they received and the family and friends they lost. The world where they ruled was gone, and they were suddenly the outcasts. His mother naturally cried when he stayed behind, but it was about time he went his own way, and the Manor was his home, even if it was lonesome and much too large for him and Bandy, who was hurrying in from the kitchen then.

"The food looks delectable," he told the extra small house-elf. "You remember what we discussed, right?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Mr. Malfoy cooked dinner all by himself, sir. Bandy wasn't here, sir. Bandy is vacationing."

He grinned and fished out three galleons for her, pressing them into her spider hand. The one that was not missing two fingers.

"Now you are. Enjoy your time."

She squeaked happily. "Thank you, sir! Bandy is happy."

He patted her head between her bat-like-ears and watched her bound off. He had become quite fond of that elf. After the war ended they were all set free (thanks to Hermione) and many had difficulty finding paid work. Bandy had been abused badly and Draco was lonely and in need of help. There was little chance that he would clean a whole mansion. So he hired Bandy, bought proper clothes (dresses like the one she had on, her favorite), set her up with fair pay and insurance.

When Hermione saw Bandy, she had kissed Draco. Granted, it was not the first time, but it was in his top favorites. That kiss was dizzying and every kiss thereafter was more heavenly. She was the one for him. If he had known it in his 1st Year on the train to Hogwarts when he saw her with Longbottom looking for a blasted toad, he would have considered himself bonkers.

The door chime echoed throughout the mansion and he glimpsed into a ornate mirror, his reflection near perfection. He opened the door and there stood...

"Hyacinth?"

His assistant to his assistant gleamed her pearly whites, and flung her deep rose cloak on the hook. "Going to welcome me in, Mr. Malfoy," she asked warmly, her breath hotter than her short dress and evident liquor on her breath. She sidestepped him to gaze more properly into the grand entrance of his home. Or, what would be a home once Hermione said yes.

"Not what I heard of the Malfoy family. It's fairly bright in here, no?"

He wasn't going to indulge. Hyacinth Baxter was a batty woman who took every opportunity to gawk at him, slacking on her work, driving everyone insane with her stretched tales of prestige visits to places that no one on her salary could afford. Draco once thrived on the attention of women like herself, but he was no longer a boy nor a single man.

"I'm expecting company, Ms. Baxter. May you make this quick?"

She continued to loiter, running her hand along the leather couch.

"Please, see yourself out," he pressed.

Hyacinth turned, her eyes like a cat's, predatory and starving of something other than hunger. "I took that dead-end job for you, Mr. Malfoy. The least you could do is pay me in full for my troubles."

He held open the door, but with no intention of bowing her out. "That explains your lack of dedication and messy work ethic. I've retained my position to fire, despite having Cook decide your fate for himself. You're fired Hyacinth. Don't return here or at work. Cook will send your things by your residence."

She approached him slowly, licking her lips. Her hand came down on his on the door. Her voice was throaty and she leaned up, her plump red lips and inch from his. "Don't be a spoil sport, Draco." She slammed the door closed.

* * *

Smoothing her red dress, Hermione could hear the chime from her place on the stoop. She waited, and tried again. Not even Bandy was answering. That was odd.

Many times Draco had told her to use her key to welcome herself into the entrance, but she cringed at the thought. She took it out and held it in the palm of her hand. It was too heavy, too detailed of snakes in its designs. It led her to one of her many old nightmares.

The nightmares were rare, fading with time but not from memory. The tidy drawing room, Bellatrix performing a most horrible curse upon her, the pain as real to her as if it were happening then. Harry and Ron trapped in the cellar, Draco a spectator to it all.

Before she lost her nerve, she pushed the key in, and it clicked open. With her hands on the curved handle and her feet planted still, she angled herself just inside the door. As if by magnetic pull her eyes were drawn to the couch. A slender, beautiful woman with sleek black hair was on top of Draco, kissing maddeningly. And like that, time froze for a millisecond, enough time for the image to seep in and burn itself behind the lids of her eyes.

Hermione choked, her throat tight and eyes burning. She let out an involuntary whimper, and the woman looked up, a Cheshire smile on her pretty face. Draco, however, looked horrified.

"Hermione!" He shoved the woman off of him, her short scream at falling in a heap at his feet. He stood, gray eyes wide, frightened, begging for understanding, for her to listen. It was such an opposing look to the glares he used to throw around like spare sickles out of his pocket.

She shook her head, the tears overflowing, her make-up smeared and rivers of black trailing on her cheeks. She was a foolish mess. A foolish, foolish girl.

"Hermione -" He struggled to push his company off his feet.

She turned and ran, her heels clicking on the concrete. A frantic, heartbroken tempo.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

The porch light was on, glowing its yellow brilliance. A welcoming. Hermione needed someone - someplace that was not hers where she would wonder if Draco would show or write. She couldn't go to anyone else, not when they were either gone or with someone else.

She rapped her knuckled against the door, and Harry, in his Snitch boxers answered. He was smiling until he saw the red dress, the streaked makeup, and her watery eyes. He did not wait another second to pull her inside, and she did not - could not - wait to cry the rest of her tears, built-up behind her lids, her whole body shaking against his.

He led her into his lounge and set her on the couch, and left to the kitchen. Moments later he returned with a hot cup of tea and a box of tissues.

"What happened?"

"D-Draco." She hiccuped. "He was wi-with -" hiccup "- an-another-" hiccup "-woman." She drenched a tissue.

Harry recoiled, a fire in his eyes, but all he said was, "Sorry, Hermione."

"I-I was -" hiccup "-stupid."

"You're never stupid," he said kindly. "Malfoy's a git. Always has been."

She could no longer talk, her throat was too sore. Her heart was sore. She leaned on his shoulder, the few tissues she used crumpled in her fist and he tensed but rested back, and she curled onto his chest where his scar was, the one of many, the one the Horcrux locket left. She wished there had been another way to severe it off of him.

"He doesn't deserve you." It resonated in his chest.

She took a shaky breath. "Oh, I know that, Harry. I only hoped... I hoped time had changed him."

"Some people don't change."

"Some shouldn't," she smiled thinking of him. How good of a friend he had been for ten years. "I'm dreadfully sorry for my intrusion."

"It's okay."

"Ron has Luna, Ginny has Neville. I never gave thought to it before. I was too busy working. When I met Draco again, I thought... It was easy and lovely. And, oh!" She peered up. "I'm sorry for going on like this. I'm just..."

"Sad." He nodded.

"Do you get lonely too?"

Harry bent at his waist and she pulled up, him pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. Then, his bright green eyes met hers darkly. "Yeah."

Harry's parents were gone, he had no siblings. The closest family he had was the Weasley's and her. It made her all the sadder. There was nothing proper she could say to him, because regardless of Draco's actions less than an hour ago, Harry likely was the one to feel and had always felt the most alone. She could never know what that was like for him. It was not a compensation, but she reached for his hand, squeezing it as comfortingly as she could manage in her state.

"We will both find someone," she muttered mostly to herself than to him.

He smiled weakly. "You before me."

She didn't ask what he meant by that. He was drawing closer, the space between their lips gradually disappearing. She sat still, shocked. Their lips met, and Hermione inexplicably relaxed. It was her best friend, but all she felt then was him. Not what he was to her, but the way his lips were making her feel, how his cheek was stubbly under the tips her fingers, his hand hot on the side of her neck, his tongue sparking on hers.

There was no other thought, worry or tear. As Harry pressed into her, she gave all. She blissfully lost herself in him, in the fingers that traced the curve of her hips, and the mouth that kissed the hollow of her throat.

Harry Potter and Hermione Granger no longer existed. The world didn't exist. There was only him and her on a couch, the rustling of clothing being removed. Only the weight of his bare body on hers. Only him as he made love to her.

* * *

Draco had quite literally thrown Hyacinth out on her arse. It was bad enough to have been an incompetent pain, but to come to his home, to nearly destroy his relationship with Hermione - it was the last straw. Once he had set up extra enchantments around his manor and the building in which he worked, he apparated straight to Hermione's garden shed.

He loathed the fact that she lived in a muggle neighborhood. Her house was too small in his opinion, too. It had only two floors and no large round bath. According to a very huffy Hermione she didn't need more room, that it was plenty for her and guests.

The single thing Draco did like about the house were the beds of unnameable flowers she grew in the shed he was in. It smelled sweet from dried herbs hanging from the rafters and growing out the ceramic pots. There were a few he couldn't name – the new ones that the Lovegood woman had gathered on her expeditions. They were an odd puce color and one snapped at him, bearing its large block teeth.

He didn't stop to admire any new additions that day though. He marched right to Hermione's door, but he didn't expect an answer. Not one light was on, not so much as a flicker of candlelight in her bedroom.

Disappointed, he turned on his heel and returned to the shed. Hermione insisted he use it for disapparting too as an extra precaution, despite the privacy gates. He did not argue with her - not after deeming her house small. He was not anxious to be transfigured into a ferret anytime soon, and he was afraid she thought it once too often in their school days after Mad-Eye had done it. Or at least, the fake Mad-Eye, but that had little to do with the fact that he suffered from nightmares of the rodents.

The next place he arrived at was her bookstore, but it was closed. So was the library, and the coffee shop manager shooed him out quite rudely when he was locking the door.

There was someone who may have had an idea where she was at. He would rather face twenty flaming dragons, but he had to explain to Hermione. He couldn't allow her to believe he would do something as slimy as sleeping with someone else. Of all the horrendous things he had done, cheating on Hermione would never be one and most especially with Baxter.

The house he apparated at was smaller than hers. While the grass was well-maintained and the shrubs neatly clipped, it still somehow managed to look underrated. There was little brightness to it, but he didn't care. He was there for one thing.

His knuckles hovered over the door as there was a glimmer of light that splattered across the side of his face. He set his sights to the window. Pressing himself to the brick, he shimmied across, his foot dangerously over the edge of the porch as he looked inside.

Potter was lying on his ratty brown couch, his ridiculously round glasses on top of his messy head. Hermione was there, lying asleep in the crook of his arm, her hair spilling over his chest, her hand over his, their fingers laced the way only lovers should. Potter moved, circling his free arm around her better, touching her hip. The blanket slipped then and Draco could see his girlfriend's breasts, and Potter, always the gentleman covered her back up, exposing his hairy leg that hung over the edge.

Draco turned and so did his stomach. Bile rose and he swallowed. His eyes burned with anger and revulsion.

Malfoy's didn't wallow. They got even.

* * *

It was surreal, Hermione in his embrace, the weight of her against his chest and stomach, the feel of the curve of her back, her hair heavy over his arm. Her skin was soft and she smelled lovely, a perfume he couldn't name but it filled the air around them. Although they were in the dark, and she was asleep, and it was long after they had shared each other, he continued to feel the rush to touch her skin. His fingers felt over the bone of her hip, tracing it slowly.

Papers and notes were scattered on the coffee table, the light from the streetlamps outside of the windows illuminating them. They were left abandoned and he wouldn't think about them for the rest of the night. Not while he had Hermione there, attention to him as he had never had before from her.

Harry did try for some remorse. Hermione was his best friend, he could not be more aware of that but it was easy to forget when her lips were on his. However, there were going to be repercussions, a talk in the day and strangely enough, he feared that it would not be good. The idea of it being awkward between them was frightening. After all they had been through, he couldn't bear to lose her. Hermione had always, without fail, been there for him when no one else had. Not even Ron.

She sighed, and moved against him. It was almost painful, the searing electricity that traveled as she turned her head, her hair tickling its way up and over his arm, and her face up toward his. He had that night. He kissed her forehead, right under her hairline. He kept his lips there as he dreamt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The cottage was set on a hill with a winding sandy path leading to its ocean blue door. The white paint of the exterior walls were beaten to an off-color dull gray. Inside there was white furniture and paintings of oceans and bowls of collected colorful seashells and plenty of her very favorite books.

The best part was that it was the only building for miles and set on a bend away from view. It was home. When she retired she fully planned to live at the ocean's side for the rest of her life. It reminded her of vacations with her parents. They traveled to lots of places, but the calming waves and salt-drenched air was her favorite place to be. No matter what it did to her hair, to which she pulled it into a tight clip.

That was one aspect that made Hermione feel refreshed. Not only was she in a new and invigorating environment, she kept her hair up. She always needed that curtain from the rest of the world. Muggle or Witch, the insults were essentially the same, and factually, a good percent had to do with her wild brown hair.

Hermione hopped into the tiled shower, adorned a yellow sundress, and sat out on her porch in her rocking chair to read. The sun would soon set and she would take a short walk and then a long sleep. A perfectly good ending from packing and arriving.

Then why was she so despondent?

While she had physical distance from her problems, they had not gone. Harry and Draco remained on her mind.

In the morning, she felt horrible for her rash actions. Harry was her best friend. How could she risk their friendship over one trodden night? Guilt had coiled itself into her stomach and she wept from the shame. Harry could do little to comfort her. Nothing could do that when he was naked beside her, the tea untouched on the table in front of them. It mocked her.

Harry talked but she didn't listen. She mumbled and spoke to herself, and about what, she didn't know. She prattled on as she used his fireplace to Floo herself home. When she did, she didn't stop from packing long enough to think. Sitting there, quiet, with nothing to distract her, it was all coming back to her.

Hermione wasn't one to run from her problems, but she had never done something irreversibly dumb before. What had she been thinking? She should have never lowered herself to Draco's level and in that one night, she may have ruined a decade of friendship.

If she lost Harry... She would never forgive herself. That she knew. She had to make it better, but when she was refreshed. After all, she was on vacation. That night, she promised herself she would write Harry a letter. It was the least she owed him.

At the closing of the sun to the night, she closed her unread book and walked inside to her bedroom where her desk waited for her, parchment and quill laid out.

_Dear Harry,_

_ I'm sorry for leaving in such a horrid rush yesterday. I must confess that what we did, it was not right. We are friends. I'm afraid I'm far too concerned to lose our friendship. It was not fair to you and I'm sorry._

She stopped, her quill hovering over the parchment. A drop of ink grew bigger at the end of the hollow shaft until it splattered on the page, stretching and being soaked. She laid down her quill and left the page where it was at, turning to her bed and crawling under the thick blankets.

The drapes of the window were left open. The night sky was a deep blue, the ocean a gleaming black mass, the waves crashing against the drums of her ears, the moon a lantern in the sky, lighting her way to her dreams.

* * *

The next day after work, Draco repeated his rounds. Her house, the bookstore, the coffee shop, and even daring to peek into the Weasley's store. It was loud and obnoxious in there. He expected nothing less from what used to be the Weasley twins. Luckily he escaped before George (or was it Fred?) could catch him in there.

The next place he could venture - and the only place he dared to venture, was Potter's home. Again. Draco stood outside of the house counting his options, which were far too few, but he couldn't very well stroll up the walk and knock on the door and expected to be greeted with open arms. That was the last thing he wanted! No matter Potter excusing him and his family in trails for their allegiance to the Dark Lord, they wouldn't be friends. They could never be. Draco didn't once consider his relationship with Hermione to be influential on her friendships, but it was. He could see that now, that there was no way she would leave them for him, and there wasn't a gentle balance. He would have to learn to live with the stupid Dumbledore's Army if he was to have her.

He hated to admit it... It was worth it.

Draco went to knock, but the door opened, and Potter didn't look one bit surprised.

"She's not here, Malfoy."

After a moment of shock, he recovered. "Then where is she?"

"If she didn't tell you, you shouldn't know." He about closed the door, but Potter had not been the only Seeker in Hogwarts. Draco was quick too, and he grabbed the door and kept it open.

"She's my girlfriend, Potter. She's _mine._"

"She was," he corrected. "And George saw you in his store. Perhaps you should be more careful when you're stalking."

Draco felt like he was going to burn from the inside out. He hated Potter, he truly hated the scarred git. "Lets get to it, eh? She told you about that woman. It wasn't what it looked like. I would never -"

"Malfoy, save it. Settle it with Hermione when she comes to you. Trust me, there's no getting through to her otherwise." Potter forced the door closed, and Draco barely got his fingers out of the way.

Potter sounded like he knew from experience, and while that made all the sense in the world, he didn't like being taught Hermione's nature from anyone. He should have known, she was his girlfriend. His. No one else's, and he wanted badly to barge right in to Potter's small lounge and tell him that to his face, that no one knew her better than him, Draco, but that wasn't true, and Potter would hex him, and Hermione would never forgive him if he killed her best friend.

_Fine_, he thought. If Hermione was going to play that game, he could play too. He would do it better, and suddenly, it occurred to him. The plan formed itself in his mind. It was the best he had.

He went home to send her an Owl. There was only a catch. There wouldn't be a letter tied to it. No, he would set a tracking spell on Talon, and he would follow him to wherever she was.

Hermione wouldn't hide from him. He wouldn't allow it. In fact, the plan would insure her forgiveness.

If it was the last thing that Draco Malfoy would ever do, he would win Hermione back. And when she was back, he would never let her go. Ever.

* * *

"You look happy, Harry." Ginny grinned at him over the brochures that were spilled over the coffee table. She readjusted her crossed legs and studied one a bright brochure of a sunset with a ambivalent look.

Harry pitched one back to her, pointing at it. "This one is good."

She picked it up and looked over it, nodding her approval. "I like this package too... This is a better price, we don't need a thrown-in dinner." She sighed heavily. "I wished I had Neville's opinion, but he's in detention with a student."

"You mean he's serving detention?"

"This is the third night! I think Neville's on the receiving end of these 'punishments.'"

Harry laughed. "This boy does sound like Fred and George."

Ginny smiled fondly, her eyes mournful at the thought of her fallen brother.

Harry had nothing to say, and he looked awkwardly away, his eyes crossing the wool blanket him and Hermione used the night before. In his skin there was a permanent memory of her creamy skin, the way she felt, the way she smelled of a mix of old and new books and sweetness, the way her hair felt between his fingers, her even breathing. He was lost in the memory of her and he was only slightly ashamed of revisiting it many times throughout his day at the office.

It was a day full of boring paperwork. After Voldemort, every dark wizard and witch appeared dumb to him. It was almost like they wanted to be caught, and he figured his job easy, but he wasn't about to take it for granted. Kingsley said that once he became accustomed he would begin making mistakes.

"You're thinking about her again."

Harry refocused on Ginny, but said nothing.

"Oh, I know you had a girl here, Harry Potter," she said jokingly. "The only question is who." She peered around as if there would be some sign, a name somewhere that would tell her who the mystery girl was. Her brown eyes, exactly like her mothers, met his. "You look _very_ happy. Did you sleep with Hermione?"

That caught Harry right off guard. "How -"

"You may not have realized it, Harry, you know, with trying to catch the darkest wizard in history, but you and Hermione always had this... Connection. You love her. I'm not surprised. You're settled now, you can think about things like _love_." She sat up straighter, leaning across the coffee table, her red hair spilling over the countless brochures. "How was it?"

Inside out, he felt warm.

"That good?" She read the answer he refused to give her on his visage. "Oh. She's with Malfoy! I almost forgot. Well, it's not like she talks about him a lot. She's always been rather private about her life, as you know." She gathered up her offers and stood to the fireplace, her chin high and confident, the way it stayed without fail. "Don't worry, you'll get her back."

He found himself asking, "what makes you sure?"

"Because some things are meant to be. You're supposed to be with her the way I'm supposed to be with Neville."

While her and Neville made a fantastic couple, he couldn't say that he agreed. After all, Hermione left and there was nothing to say that she would be back.

Green flames lit the red hair of his friend, and he was alone with his thoughts. Instead of thinking about her, he brought out his folder beside the couch, and studied the list of suspects, but his thoughts never strayed too far from the girl he didn't know he loved all along.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The letter to Harry was placed at the back of Hermione's mind. She started her day with a refreshing citric face wash and dressing in shorts and a loose blouse, her hair in a high ponytail. She contemplated eggs for breakfast as she made her way to the kitchen, the sun adorning the sky in pretty pink. However, she stopped short in her pursue of the fridge. An Eagle owl was perched on her counter, peering at her in a discontented manner.

Her heart jumped into her throat. The owl looked just like... No... It couldn't have been. Why was it there? It wasn't carrying a letter or a package.

She leaned over and opened the window. "Go on," she urged the animal, but it did not budge. "Oh, honestly. Go on now. You can't stay." Yet, the owl didn't leave. She sighed and went to the front door, hoping a nice breeze will tempt the stubborn creature.

Owls didn't normally act that way. It had to have been sent to her. She suppose she would have to write yet another letter. It was a worse notion than writing to Harry.

She opened the door. Draco Malfoy stood there, grinning in all of his stupid, clever glory.

"What are you doing here?"

"I wish to talk with you."

"You set a tracking spell on your owl," she asked him incredulously.

"I thought it was rather ingenious."

"I'm not saying it wasn't, but, Draco... What I saw..." There she was, getting chocked by the mere memory of seeing him with another girl. What was wrong with her? It was _Malfoy_! She shouldn't have expected less. Harry was right, once a prat, always a prat. But, she couldn't quite believe that herself yet.

"Are you going to invite me in?"

"No." Hastily she closed the door, and rested her back on it.

Muffled, he yelled at her. "You can shut the door but you can't shut me out!"

"I believe I just did."

"Then why are you not leaving?"

She inclined her head back and closed her eyes. She was developing a headache already. He was a pain in the arse! "Because this is my house. Go away, Malfoy!"

"Oh, I'm Malfoy now?"

"Go."

"You know you want to hear my side."

"I certainly do not!"

"I love you."

The smile his voice gave away was gone, and she spun and wrenched the door open, her eyes alight with fury. "Don't you say that you love me. I saw you!"

"There you go again, going on what you see. Seeing isn't knowledge, Hermione. Knowledge in itself should be enough. You know me. Hear me out."

"No."

He rubbed his face, and turned his back to her. Just as suddenly he rounded on her again. "Will you accept dinner? I'll talk and you listen. If you want nothing more to do with me afterward then we can part ways as nothing more than what we were before we met again."

Hermione knew she should have said no, but she looked into those eyes, the way they pleaded, and she couldn't bear it. She nodded. "One dinner. No more than an hour."

He smiled that breathtaking smile she loved, and he left without another word, his hands deep in his pockets. He walked with grace, his head held proudly high, the gentle wind tousling his hair. He was a gorgeous angel walking away from her, but that angel wasn't truly an angel. He was a cruel trick.

Hermione banged her head against the siding, and took a deep breath. What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Draco left his business to Cook for the week. The weedy young man with his Uncle Theodore's big ears had a lot to prove, and it was the opportune time to prove it as Draco had his own reputation to to uphold. He would never let on to Hermione what he had done, by staying at a posh hotel down the beach conveniently located next to an outdoor restaurant he planned to take her to the following night.

The hotel, as beautiful as it was, was muggle. They gave him a slim rectangle disk when he asked for a key and when he persisted for a key the man with his unappreciated snobbish attitude told him, "sir, that is your key." It certainly didn't look like a key to Draco, and the handle on the door looked odd, too big. He knocked, he held his key up to the door. Nothing... He thought of blasting it open until he simply unlocked it by magic. He threw the key-card in the rubbish bin.

That day Draco wore a dragon skinned jacket to shield his skin from the harsh sun, and he let the door to his room swing shut. He nodded to the bellboy and took the long elevator ride down from twelve floors, buttons lighting up, an annoying ding and faint music.

It was alright, for a muggle penthouse, it contained small chocolates on the pillow, a great view, a large round tube, happy servants, and best of all, a fireplace that was currently set up with the Floo Network.

Everything in his world had changed - including Draco himself, but there was one thing that hadn't, and that was his taste for the finer things in life. Like Hermione. She was the best there was.

Strolling out onto the beach, he left his footprints to the place where he intended to take her. He wanted another look at it, to check in on them; make sure they were doing the job right. He had one chance to get the night right. Hermione wasn't going to allow him another.

Tied grass on bamboo sticks held up the roof, counters and tables of the same material, and a small black box that emitted muggle music out to the constant stream of customers. There were pretty muggle girls dancing with hunky muggle men, and Draco felt a little sickened that there wasn't a nice indoor Wizarding restaurant on the beach. Then again, Hermione was not him, and she preferred more of the simpler things in life. She only liked nice things on rare occasions – like holidays, and if it was more than once a month, she asked if he was trying to buy her.

That muggle-born girl could drive him bonkers, but that was part of why he loved her. She wasn't easy, she was complicated and infuriating and a pain in his arse. It made him love her all the more. That was why he was justifying his great endeavors to keep her. He was going to extreme measures but it would all be worth it if he found Hermione in his arms in the morning.

Nothing was going to stop him.

* * *

_Dear Harry,_

_ I'm sorry for leaving in such a horrid rush yesterday. I must confess that what we did, it was not right. We are friends and I'm afraid I'm far too concerned to lose our friendship. It was not fair to you and I apologize for my actions. I hope we can talk about this further when I arrive back in London._

_ Draco is here. I must hear him out but I am quite sure that I deserve better. You were right, Harry._

_With Love, Hermione_

Before she could question her decision to tell him about Draco, Hermione sent the letter off. It was only fair that he knew what a complete mess she was, who was with her. If they didn't have honesty, they didn't have anything. While she understood all the secrets he kept in school, they were older and had been through the worst together. Secrets were best left when the world was dangerous.

Hermione felt too horrible for someone that was spending their vacation on a beach. She flung the drapes of her window closed casting her room in darkness. The sweet sounds of the crashing waves were diminished, but all she wanted to think about was how everything would be better in day's light. She slipped under her covers, wrapping herself securely in them, her eyes closing to the sight of her closed drapes, the lamp, the book beside it on the nightstand, and her plush carpet and her plain white walls.

It couldn't get worse, could it? It was Harry and Draco after all...

* * *

The moon was full, but the light dimmed in the dungeon of Draco's home as the window fogged from the froth and bubble of the cauldron below. The sounds of a brewing future sent his nerves on high alert. It was a high in itself to have the control. It was the same control that sent him to the dark side of the war. It was an allure to something forbidden, something higher, and for years he had stayed safely away, but it was time to give in. Just a little. To get what he wanted, what he rightly deserved.

A sliver of a dragon's heart. The skin of a basilisk. A petal from a day lily. The cauldron steamed, the color a deep green. He hoped that was the right color, he checked the stained book beside it, hovering his lit wand over the inked words his grandfather wrote. If he miscalculated once the whole sordid plan would fail and he would lose Hermione for good.

No, of course it would work! He was just as adequate in Potions class as Hermione. Only... The potion was possibly the least ethical thing he would ever do and that counted everything he had done in the Dark Lord's leagues.

He bent his head back, the smoke curling around his neck, enticing him with its airy and odd lavender scent. It begged to be used. After all, the ingredients were waiting to be dropped in. The basilisk skin was incredibly expensive given its rarity but its improbable storage in his cupboard was about to prove useful.

It was risky. Administrating the potion to her would be dangerous. If she caught him she would very well murder him. If she learned of it later (too low of a chance to be considered) he would have the same fate. Then there was the possibility that he would get away with it.

There was one problem, however and that problem's name was Harry Potter. As an adult he was not any less nosy than he was as a child. He was not going to increase his chances of getting caught by sneaking him a potion as well, or even killing him - because facts were facts and Draco _had_ thought about it more than once. Could anyone blame him? Potter was an annoying, self-justified git. Was Potter right? Terribly so, but that didn't mean Draco would ever admit it aloud. They had a good relationship, a silent one, a near-non-existent one. He wanted to keep it that way.

In the worst case scenario, Potter would never be able to prove that it was Draco's fault. Potter's days of pulling miracles were over. It was Draco's turn. The only difference was that Draco was going to _earn_ his miracles. Even if it meant losing sleep to staying in dungeon a brewing the concoction in a cast iron cauldron.

* * *

The walls of Harry's house was closing in on him. A sort of claustrophobia, but he ached to hear from Hermione. A sent word that she was okay would have done well to set his mind at ease. Yet, he was alone and more than that, lonesome.

Harry didn't feel alone often. There was his friends and his career, all of which kept him busy enough, and gave him the peace he sought after all of his life. A lack of a romantic connection didn't make him to feel as though he was lonely. He wasn't. Not until he had Hermione lying his arms. Then, suddenly, without cause it made him feel cold without her.

He flipped through the album of his parents. Them dancing and happy. The picture of the original Order of the Phoenix. Pictures of him as a child, the one picture torn and taped together of him riding a toy broom with his parents onlooking.

The second album was one that Luna made him with all of the pictures they developed from Colin's camera along with ones others had taken of him and his friends. They spanned all seasons and all horrors and all celebrations. He stopped at one in particular, one of him and Hermione sitting on the step of a staircase, her finger underlining what was likely a spell she was explaining to him. They were in their Second Year in that one. Young and innocent.

On the opposing page showed a different story. Sixth Year after a winning Quidditch match against Slytherin. Hermione stood between him and Ron, her arms flung over their shoulders, smiling and looking at Harry in a way he never took notice of before because, quite frankly, she always looked at him like that. He never questioned it before. Then there was Luna beside Ron staring at a camouflaged bug over her head.

Hermione had always been there for him. She helped him pass his homework and exams, kept him out of much trouble as she could considering how involved she became for his sake. She began Dumbledore's Army, she was the reason that they won the war. There was no way he would have survived his First Year if it wasn't for her.

It was always Hermione. She alone stayed with him on their search for the Horcruxes. He reckoned that she never fully forgave Ron for abandoning them. He blamed her a little for it, for losing Ron (as she very well knew) hurt them greatly. But it was her. She stayed with him. She could have gone with Ron but she didn't and that mattered more to Harry than he could ever tell her, and he didn't think he ever had. Suddenly, he felt awful about that.

Diverting his thoughts from her and the dreadful feelings with it, he scanned his cases, the moving pictures of escaped Death Eaters and those good old bad guys. However, his eyes traveled from the pages of suspects to the album lying on the corner of the coffee table to the window. He didn't know why he couldn't concentrate until he recognized what he was waiting for.

An owl never showed, and Harry was going slowly incapable of doing any real progress.

Placing the folders into his briefcase (gold-plated with his name that Mrs. Weasley gave him for Christmas), he Floo'd to the Ministry. Over the roar of the flames, he didn't hear the flapping wings.

* * *

A/N: For nearing two weeks I'll be on the other side of my country. This will be continued upon my return!


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Hermione first tried on her simple white dress. She thought it looked too much for a dinner with someone who cheated on her. She traded it for her black slacks and green blouse. That didn't suite the breezy evening; the bright blue of the sky. Once more, she changed into her casual eyelet blue dress. Jeans simply weren't comfortable on the beach and so looking herself over carefully, she deemed it appropriate.

Her hair up into a high bun, she washed her face, brushed her teeth and she sat on the couch with a book to pass any remaining time. She eyed the clock suspiciously, wondering if its slowness was due to an internal problem... Or, maybe it was her. Her knee was bouncing and her jaw clenched and sore. Draco did this to her. It was always his fault that he was on her mind. He was either torturing her and her friends, or being a right git to others, or he was kissing her and for once easing her into oblivion. He irritated her so!

It took nearly a half of an hour, but she became immersed in her book. When the door was rapped she jumped, losing her place in the falling pages. She then remembered Draco, and she stood too readily, too happily, and she collected herself.

The man who made her life miserable for seven years and counting was not going to get this emotion out of her. He didn't deserve it and she had to start moving on. After dinner, she would bid him goodbye, beginning her new life without the blond-hair slime ball.

Draco stood on her porch in a black muggle suit. She shook her head, not able to stop the giggle that passed through her lips.

"What's so funny, Granger?"

"A suit, Malfoy?"

"Yes, a suit. Haven't your muggle-likes seen one before?"

_Just like old times_, she thought sadly. "Lets get this over with."

"No, no, no. Do not rush me. This is going to be a grand time. You'll see."

She stepped out, not shutting the door not clicking closed behind her. She was changing her mind. "I don't think this is a good idea. After what happened -"

"You look beautiful, Hermione." He covered her hand, forcing the door to click. "Lock up. I have a night full of surprises for you."

She sighed, her fingers fiddling with the button on her dress. How did he get to her? In her mind she could clearly see him kissing that harlot, yet she couldn't allow herself to hex his mouth shut. He still had strings on her heart, and somewhere in the depths of it, she believed him. There was a look in his eyes, a look beyond his arrogance, his surety, but one that begged her forgiveness and one beneath it that told her how much he did indeed care for her.

From her hidden back pocket she brought out her wand and tapped the door to lock. She returned her wand and Draco offered his elbow. She hesitated and slid her arm into the crook of his.

When their feet met the beach, he stopped. "Hand me your shoes."

"Why?"

"Don't question me, do it."

"I have every right to question your motives."

He sighed. "For one night, Hermione, trust me."

Shoulders slumped, she gave in. It was for one night and she could be rid of him. She took off her slippers and placed them in his eager hands. Then, he turned and threw them into the oceans hungry waves.

"MALFOY! What did you do that for?"

"Shut up Hermione and walk."

A heat bubbled in her chest. "Why -"

"Walk."

Disheartened at giving in, at watching her only pair of slippers gone, she walked. Draco followed a step behind, his hand on her lower back to which she was not happy about. In her head, she repeated: _One night. One night._

"Feel that," he asked.

"What?"

"Stop." He placed himself at her back, his hand covering her eyes, his other firmly at her waist. "Feel that?"

"I feel sand. Loose granular particles of hard rock."

Heavier, he sighed again. "Let your mind go. What do you sense?"

Hermione was confused. What was she to say? There was sand at her feet and an ocean to her right, the sky above. Nothing had changed just because she closed her eyes and stood still.

"Wiggle your toes."

She did.

"Get those voices out of your head. Listen to the ocean."

The ocean was preferable to his voice. She listened, allowed it to drown out anything else he was saying. It surrounded her. She was in the ocean, and the sky was expansive, the sand endless. The world around her disappeared. There was only her, the sand, the ocean, and the sky. In time, there wasn't her. In time, there wasn't even time.

Hot breath caressed her ear, lips moving against her lobe. "Isn't that better than your books?"

She smiled. "It comes close."

He muttered something that she didn't hear, but it sounded something like "impossible." He released her, and she gasped.

In a distance of a Quidditch field away from them were small hovering lights and a section of a wooden platform. As they came closer she could hear soft classical music from the lights. It was talented magic; she was impressed.

At the edge of the platform, he held out his hand. "May I ask for this dance?"

Speechless, she had to clear her throat. "You may." She laid her hand in his, and he led her to the center.

Draco must have given this night a lot of effort. He must have planned it before he even asked her to go on this date of forgiveness. While it seemed all too typical of Draco - to go to such elaborate measures, it made her want to cry. It didn't matter what he did, what he said, there was nothing he could do that would make her trust him again. It was too hard.

Hand in his, space between them like the width of the abyss, he twirled her. She closed her eyes, feeling a burst of wind and as she came around, he pulled her closer. Her hips met his, and she opened her eyes, his bearing down into hers. Something tugged at her hair, and she realized he was taking out the clip that held it in place, and her hair cascaded around her shoulders. He smiled softly. Not a smirk, but a real smile, the one that she loved from him.

Mist shone. "Forgive me."

Hurt allowed. "I can't."

They slowly spun, like their words, in circles.

"Please, Hermione. Trust me."

"I'm sorry."

"You're not. Listen to me. Hyacinth Baxter is a batty woman. She attacked me. You should feel sorry for me, it wasn't as though she was a remarkable kisser. I have bruises that still have not gone away."

"You hurt me."

"I have hurt you far worse than that. Don't venture that you've forgotten me trying to kill you. Bellatrix and the scar on your arm. Seven years I've tormented you. There is nothing, Hermione, that we can't get through."

"You were a boy -"

"Made to be a man. War made me who I am. Do you love me?"

"I..."

He let her go, stepping back. Something was wrong, the skyline was lower. There was only blackness beneath them. The platform was moving!

"Draco!" She reached out her hand. "The platform! It's moving! Come back!"

"Do you love me?"

"You are crazy!"

His heels touched the edge, his arms outstretched. "Tell me you love me, Hermione."

He was, he was crazy! She watched him lean back, his right heel over the edge. She didn't want to go forward, not to leave the spot now that she knew how far they were up. Fright had frozen her in place, but as Draco was closer to falling, she was torn.

She felt for her wand, but it wasn't there. There was no choice. If she wanted to save him, she would have to go to him. He was an idiotic man!

"Draco, please!"

He fell backward, and Hermione lurched forward, her hands grasping at his jacket. She pulled but her feet slipped, and he was too heavy, and she cried out. There was the idea of descent that sent her into sheer panic, and there was the thought of the icy death awaiting her if the possibility that the acceleration didn't kill them first. She wrenched with all of her might but she wasn't budging, and Draco took her hands, and ripped her fingers from his lapel.

He fell.

"DRACO!"

He halted, lying vertical over the ocean, as if there was a floor. A invisible extension of the platform they were on and it hit her then: He did plan it all, including her near-fatal heart attack. She could have killed him, in fact she was so angry she threw herself on top of him and slapped him with all the strength she could muster. SMACK! It was pretty good, considering how badly she was shaking.

"I deserved that."

She slapped him again.

The height they were at was dizzying, and she shut her eyes tight. Draco clenched her arms and brought her chest to chest with him. "I would never risk you falling, love."

Tears dropped and she wondered where they landed. She felt him slip something into her hidden back pocket. It was her wand. He had taken her wand. If she wasn't so frightened, she would've hexed him into the ocean.

"I would never risk you."

Hermione buried her face into his shoulder as his arms embraced her. "You're the impossible one, Draco. "

"I couldn't think of a better way to get you to see."

"To see what?"

"That you love me too."

* * *

Yes, Draco had done yet another horrible thing. Yes, he should have been punished, but wasn't the two slaps punishment enough? Even at her most distressed state Hermione could pack a punch. His jaw still hurt!

However, that didn't stop Hermione from stalking away from him on the beach. Little did she know that the night was far from over. Perhaps if she handled things better then Draco would have no need to go to the rest of his plans, but it was Hermione and if he was honest with himself, he didn't expect less. Maybe, though, she would look back and realize that yes, she loved him too.

Either way, he intended to make it true.

Her hair down from its bun it was bushier than he had ever seen it. It was like an untamed animal free from its captivity and it was as equally as frightening as her attitude. It matched her perfectly, but he saw further than that; how her hips swayed on the curves of the beach, how her dress fitted them, and how her beautiful shoulders were up to her useless ears.

"Hermione!"

She spun, her wand back and pointed at him. He didn't hear the spell but he certainly felt himself flying up and over, and into the water. A wave crashed over him, smothering him, the salty water entering his lungs and he choked. He scrambled up, crawling away, standing soaked and heavy and more than a little angry as the passages in his nose burned.

Hermione didn't stop, didn't even turn around.

He allowed himself the bit of excess anger to wonder why he was trying so hard for her. That was quickly dispelled and he was running after her as awkwardly as Filch with a hangover.

"Hermione!"

"The date is over!"

"Like hell it is!"

She turned on him like a lion on a antelope. "You toyed with my feelings! You made me believe that we were going to die!"

"Why do you think we were going to die, eh? Because you would die for me as I would do for you."

Her cheeks heated pink. She turned on her heel but halfway as Draco grasped her elbow and tugged her to him. He kissed her, those delicious lips on his more than he could ever dream he could feel.

"You promised me a date."

"You made me promise to hear you out. Over dinner - which we haven't had, by the way."

"I can't let you go hungry then." He continued to tug her forth until she was walking side by side with him. He grinned. It was a small victory but a victory nonetheless.

The shack that normally had muggles dancing and drinking was empty. The lights were on and the music continued to play from that odd little box. For the size and looks of the place it cost too much to rent for the night, but money was no object to Draco and he knew it was the sort of disastrous place that Hermione liked to attend.

He had the muggles move out the rest of the seating so there was a single table and two chairs for them. He held out her seat, and she took it, looking at their surroundings curiously.

"Where is everyone?"

"The place is ours for another three hours."

She gaped. "What are we going to do for three hours?"

"Eat, become uselessly inebriated and dance."

Her eyes sparked that would soon be a raging fire if he answered her upcoming question wrong. "Are you trying to buy me?"

"There's no buying Hermione Granger. I'm simply attempting to win your affections. If I had my way, we'd be naked in a posh hotel."

"You're vile."

"That hasn't bothered you for months."

She was quiet, which he never took as a good sign. It was okay when she was biting her lower lip, or tracing the quill along her jaw in deep thought. That was the look he loved, not when she was quiet, gazing hard at her poured glass of wine as she was doing then.

He pretended to situate his jacket, slipping in to hide the tiny vial in his hand. He stood, and in a gentleman manner he placed his hand behind his back, bowed, and offered his free hand to her.

She stared at it as if was a question she didn't want to answer. In resignation she accepted, and as he pulled her away from her seat, he pulled the cork out and dipped the contents into her drink. He replaced the bottle in his trouser pocket, and brought the girl who made it all worth it close to him.

Being sly was being Slytherin and he was the best Slytherin there was.

They danced, but all too soon she moved away from his body, reluctance in her gaze. She stood behind her chair, her hands clamped on the back of it. She was hurting, that much was clear to him.

"I will earn your trust."

She didn't respond. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a gulp that was too big for someone refined and classy like Hermione.

Draco watched closely, coming in front of her. The brown in her eyes hazed and came into focus. "What... Where am I?" She blinked and peered around.

He took the drink from her, holding it up for her in show. "You've had too much to drink, love. Let me take you home."

"Yes, I feel tired."

"I know. It's been a long day. We're at your vacation home. Tomorrow we'll go on a picnic."

"Okay," she mumbled, and Draco held her, sweeping her off her feet. He left the scene as it was. The muggles could pick up after him, after all, it was quite a bit of money...

Curled in his arms sleeping soundly, he carried Hermione across the sand. The waves lapped at his feet, the moon was full, the air was sparked with electricity on his tongue. He had won. He had Hermione.

He crossed paths with a slipper. It was soaked and ruined. It mattered not. He would buy her a new and better pair another day. For that night, he would lie her down beside him in bed, and they would sleep to their new future.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Mr. Potter? Sir? Mr. Potter."

Harry pushed himself off his desk, the paper he had been reading stuck to the side of his face. He ripped it off and threw it down. His glasses were askew, and he fixed them right on his face. His back was sore and his eyes stung as they met with the light outside of his window. In front of him was a nervous man that reminded him a lot of Colin Creevy in his excitement. It could barely be contained, he moved constantly.

"Yes, Ben?"

"You looked uncomfortable, sir."

"Thanks," he said groggily. He gathered his papers shuffling them together haphazardly. He looked at the boyish man and nodded. "Take over for me, will you?"

"What? Sir? I -" He shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I - You think I'm ready?"

Harry wasn't sure what to think. It was too early, he hadn't truly slept and Ben wasn't exactly a professional. He was however, eager to prove himself. He wanted more than anything to be an Auror and he had the highest marks in his division. The more Harry pondered (which made his head hurt, but it had been lying on rough wood for nine hours) the more he liked the idea of leaving everything to him and going home.

"Take everything from here. I trust you." Harry stood and took his light briefcase.

"Maybe - Um. Sir, maybe you shouldn't. I - I don't think I'm ready."

"You are." He came around the desk and patted his shoulder uncomfortably. "I'll check in on you later today."

"I -"

Harry didn't hear the rest of his argument as the door silenced him. He said 'morning' to familiar and blurred faces, only thinking of the fireplace and home, and possibly a letter in Hermione's writing. She wouldn't keep him waiting, it was rude and Hermione had never been rude.

When he arrived, stepping onto his carpeted floor he relaxed. It was always better to be home after a long day, as if it was a reward in its own. He loved his job, it was calming personally knowing that the world was safer with each dark wizard caught. Seven years of his youth was dedicated to it, behind the scenes work and full frontal battles to the fall of Voldemort.

There was the scent of coffee that automatically brewed itself every morning and not by magic, but by timer. Hermione gave him the coffee pot when he moved into the house at the time he became an Auror. It was an unexpected gift from her, but then he remembered that time on the hunt for the Horcruxes, when it was just the two of them, and she took coco beans from a house in a neighborhood they passed through. She felt awful and left behind the few pence she had. He loved that coffee, and only Hermione would remember the exact brand it was.

Upon entering the kitchen his spirits rose further. There, perched on the counter was Hermione's owl. He untied the rolled parchment from his foot and opened it. He read and the last line sent the euphoric feeling flying with the owl, the sound of flapping wings taking his hopes with him.

He crumpled the paper, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter. He bent his head, his glasses slipping to the end of his nose.

"Harry?"

He turned and saw Ginny standing in the doorway in her Quidditch gear, mud splashed on her cheek. Funny, he hadn't heard the sound of fire or footsteps. It was a good thing he left work, he would have made a poor Auror.

Without prompting Ginny helped herself to the coffeepot. Behind him there was clinking glasses and soon a mug in front of him, steaming his face and opening his senses like opening a wound.

Again, without prompting or permission she read the letter, having spotted Hermione's writing, he presumed. She read and made a noise in her throat that he took to not be a good sign.

"You know what you have to do," she said.

"What's that?"

"Go get her," she said a little shrilly, as if shocked that he could even question it.

"She's with Malfoy."

"That's the problem with the lot of you. You wait for things to change when you should change them yourself. Ron fancied her for ages and he never got the nerve to ask her out! You love her, Harry. You have to show that to girls or they'll never believe it."

He blushed, hiding his face further away. "I made love to her."

"Means nothing," she waved dismissively, taking a sip of her 'I heart London' mug. "This coffee is piss, by the way."

He laughed.

"You've been alone for too long. And your friends don't count," she added after seeing his defiant face. "If you don't go now, you'll never get her."

That was all he needed to hear. The threat, the scare. He snatched his coat off the hook and doubled back to kiss Ginny's cheek before rushing out of the house. He would take a train there. It would give him time to think of what he was going to say to her.

_I like you?_

_I love you?_

_ Don't be with Malfoy?_

_ Please?_

_ I miss you?_

**I need you.**

* * *

Fresh light poured over Draco's face. He moved his arm over his eyes, but as soon as he did he felt a pull on his right arm. It was under something and he tugged for freedom, until he realized... He twisted onto his side and peered down at his girlfriend.

With the back of his fingers he touched her cheek. Gently as to not wake her, he ran a finger through her hair, letting a tangle stop his process. He kissed her lips. She moaned.

That was what every morning should have been like. Hearing your girlfriend moan. It was such a lovely sound that he did it again, and she smiled. It wasn't a real smile, but it was a tug at the corner of her lips, and he counted it for everything that it was worth.

He had Hermione back.

He saw their tangled arms, her skin tan against the alabaster of his. The black of the Dark Mark was in shock contrast on his forearm, and the scar of 'mudblood' dragged into her skin was depressingly white.

Once more, he kissed her and then he began to carefully he free his arm, and stretched his way out of bed.

Did he do a horrible thing last night? Yes, he did. That didn't mean it wasn't for a good cause. Nonetheless, he would do as all good boyfriends should do and make breakfast. She more than earned it last night - and not because the potion worked.

It was also a good time to look about the house. Draco was supposedly there for a day. Hermione would become suspicious if he suddenly forgot where she kept the pots and pans. On the other hand, she would be surprised he knew how to cook at all. He had a feeling that she knew Bandy did all the work.

So he decided not to cook breakfast. He would instead use the morning to give her his key. It was the perfect time. She had no recollection of what happened on in his lounge. Not that the couch was there anymore. He ordered his assistant to call movers to get it out of premiss and destroyed. He could only look at it and remember what had happened. It wasn't a kiss that he wanted, but it was one that happened and to Hermione, it was a betrayal. Only he would remember his and hers, and they would begin again.

Draco memorized the house. The kitchen was separated by a half-wall to the living room that was full of books he deemed to be very Hermione'ish. The bathroom was across the hall from Hermione's bedroom. Like the rest of the house it was decorated in the sea theme with seashells, sand, photos of oceans, and sandals. He thought it a very dull house to spend the rest of her life in. She would prefer the Manor, he decided.

He exited the bathroom and stopped in the hallway, his eye catching a single picture on the wall. Inspecting it closer he saw that it was Hermione and her friends. Potter, a handful of the Weasley's, Lovegood, Longbottom, and some others he couldn't name. But what caught his eye the most was the arm that Harry had around her waist. It was strangely possessive coming from Scar-head. As though he had a claim on her.

In that moment, more than anything, he wanted to smash the picture. He didn't. He was aware of exactly who Hermione was, and smashing a picture was not part of what she wanted in a boyfriend. It was too bad she got one.

To stop himself from doing anything drastic he returned to her. Scar-head (when had he gone back to his childish nickname of him?) was back in his little life missing Hermione and Draco was there, with her in her bed. Their bed. He touched her cheek, so soft, so beautiful. He kissed her, pressed his lips harder on hers until she was kissing him back.

"Morning," he whispered.

"Morning."

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"You'll see." In every sense of the word he _dragged_ her out of bed, rushing her to the front door, opening it before she squealed.

"Draco! I'm in my nightwear!"

Draco looked down at his sweatpants and at the outline of her knickers through her sheer nightgown. He opened the closet behind them and seized his cloak, placing it over her shoulders. Hands on her waist he guided her outside, their bare feet sinking into the sand.

He loved the feel of her hips, the way they swayed. It was never noticed under their dreaded school robes and so he went unaware of when she had started walking _that_ way. Before the Yule Ball, he supposed, because her in that light blue dress was something he would never forget.

He walked her to the shore, letting the lapping waves clean their feet. He smiled because he knew, but she rightfully looked perplexed.

"Feel this," he asked her.

Recognition flashed in her brown eyes, but only for a breath. It was gone and she was confused, like she had missed a thought without ever knowing it.

Draco pushed the panic down and forced himself to smile, but he felt the strain of it and he hoped she didn't notice. He looked away, gathering himself. "This is yours."

"You can't own the ocean, Draco," she informed him gently with injected humor.

He huffed. "Don't be daft. I can own property. I bought this. Here to the shore -" he spun her around and pointed to her house, "and nine meters past that quaint fence of yours and all along the sides is yours."

She gaped and he swelled with pride. Oh, how he hoped he would be blamed for that expression for the rest of his days.

"I... You bought all of this?" She turned in his arms, craning her head up to peer at him incredulously. "Why?"

"You're beautiful here." It was true. He would have never suspected to love Hermione near the ocean but he was positive then that he could love her anywhere, her and her bushy hair. He kissed her lips and then he smirked playfully. "Mind the fence going?"

"What will you replace it with?"

"Big walls."

"I don't want to be cut off, Draco."

He tightened his grip around her waist, his fingers grazing the small of her back. "Whatever you wish, Hermione." There was nothing he wouldn't - couldn't give her. She didn't believe he could buy the ocean but he would buy her every ocean - every land, the whole world if she wanted it.

* * *

With her hand in Draco's strolling up to her house, she took back her morning thoughts and reservations. It wasn't too soon for him to stay with her, to see the place she loved so. He had grown up and she was ashamed that she didn't credit him with his experiences when she began dating him. She had been unfair, it seemed. Draco didn't turn up his pointed nose at her small house, although he did of her sweet white picket fence.

Obviously, Draco was there to stay and given that she would allow him room to be comfortable in her retreat. _Why_ she had changed her mind in the first place remained a mystery to her. Like a dream without color or clarity she recalled putting in time for work leave, but that was the last she could remember.

It worried Hermione a great deal, but she would say nothing. It could have been caused by stress. The previous case had not been easy. If she found she was amiss in more parts of her day she would look into it.

Quickly she deterred Draco from the door. Their feet were wet and covered in a thin layer of sand. She noticed that morning that Draco failed to wash his feet before tracking it all over her clean house, and regardless of what she remembered of last night she knew he failed to wash hers as well. She would have to change the sheets of the bed later as there was gravely sand in it that itched her legs and caused redness on her shins.

She took the hose beside the step, the green rubber tube camouflaged in sprouts of grass that grew at the base. The nozzle squeaked as it sprouted water that she sprayed them off.

"You could've done that with a wand," Draco said dully, that lazy tone of his deeper and more lazy than his childhood drawl.

"Where's your sense of adventure," she jest.

With a wild glint he swept her off her feet, rushing into the house and throwing her onto the couch where she bounced and giggled. With his wand he slammed the door closed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Draco promised Hermione a picnic, and while she could barely remember that he had, he would keep his promise. It was his resolution, not only to take her on a picnic, but to keep every promise he would make to her.

When she dozed off on the couch, naked and lovely, he laid a blanket over her and dressed himself. He snuck into the kitchen, clicking his tongue softly for that damn bird of hers. It often bit him with a razor that substituted a beak.

Feathers ruffling... He opened a cabinet drawer, a "aha" expression for his delight when he saw the blasted owl of hers, but he received a glaring look and he knew that his fingers would bleed. It didn't stop him, he immediately took out a quill and parchment from a drawer that he went through the night before.

_Cook,_

_ My business better be as good as I left it or your fired._

_ Pack my clothes in a suitcase. Leave it behind the house of the address I pinned to your desk._

_D. L. Malfoy_

_P.S. I'm serious as a Blast-Ended Skewert, I will FIRE you!_

It was always good to elicit good fashioned fear into his employees. Although he got wind of some that teased him of his fear of the animals he threatened Cook with. Draco wasn't one to hand out forgiveness, but he was reformed and he should act like it if he liked his place on the social ladder. And, none of them had to take that giant's class.

He rolled the parchment and went to attach it to the owl's leg (its name slipped from his mind), but the stupid thing hopped away, further into the darkness of its hideaway.

"Take the bloody letter," he growled, and the owl pecked his fingers. "OW!" He hushed and sucked his finger where a spot of blood was appearing on his second knuckle. He hated him. If Hermione wouldn't have been angry he would've been more than happy to cook him for dinner.

Nursing his injuries for less time than he desired, he snatched the bird in one hand. It dug its beak into his flesh, pulling and ripping until Draco stuffed the letter in and threw him out the window violently. He ran his hands under the tap, cleaning the new cuts well before finding the plasters Hermione had put on his hands the first time he met the soon-to-be-dead bird. He found them in the farthest drawer from him by the wall, and by that time, the blood had made a ring.

All this because as he knew she would, Hermione questioned why he was wearing the same outfit. He had some at the hotel but it was not as though he could return there soon enough to rectify the hiccup in his plans. It wasn't a huge hiccup, as he simply told Hermione that he was a poor packer, and that was certainly not the truth but a needed lie.

"Draco," Hermione said groggily. Her weary face showed above the half-wall. "What are you looking for?"

"I found the plasters."

"Did you try to pet Hermes again?"

"I didn't try to _pet_ him, Hermione, I sent a letter to my assistant."

She didn't question what the letter was about, which Draco was infinitely thankful for. Instead, she fetched a rag beneath the tap and wiped the blood-rings off and stuck the plasters on.

He didn't like them, they were tight and it was difficult to move his fingers. She said he complained too much. She was right. Nonetheless, both of them could have healed them with magic, but Draco liked the extra contact that the muggle things allowed her to give, and he liked looking down and seeing the care. It was inane, but it was like a part of muggle-born Hermione on his skin, and he relished that.

Draco kissed her and reminded her of the picnic.

"Lets stay in," she said, lying her head on his chest. "Lets go tomorrow."

"Today. Go get dressed."

She bit her lip in hesitance, and so he whipped out the big wands. "Please?"

"Fine, fine." She waved her hand and left.

She wouldn't be sorry. Like everything else he attempted in his life, he succeeded.

* * *

No one recognized Harry on a muggle train. He relished that. There were no greetings or the need to stop and speak to people. It was not as though Harry minded too terribly, but it was an inconvenience. Most days he preferred going through his day in quiet. On the train there was little that was quiet, with the wheels on the track, the clanging of unknowable metal objects, the soft talking, the loud ear-buds of music from the man next to him, a woman popping bubblegum as large as half of her face. Yet, it was quiet because no one was talking to The Chosen One (a name he had hoped would have vanished but had not).

The tunnels were black, the lights inside harsh, his reflection smeared in the dirty window in front of him. His hair was the usual mess and while he couldn't see it, he knew he had bags under his eyes. He was not presentable but it would have to do. He didn't have the time to change and it was not as though Hermione hadn't seen him at his absolute worst.

How could he have not seen for all those years? He thought of those nights they laughed over shared jokes, how she kept him safe, the way her eyes scanned each book with more love than he saw her carry for anyone else. Except... Malfoy.

Hermione with Malfoy. It didn't make sense to him that day. What could she have seen in him? When she told him who she was seeing (with utmost trepidation) he thought of sending her off to St. Mungo's. Surely there was a spell or all the study and worry Hermione put herself through finally caused her to crack the way Ron jested about all those years in Hogwarts.

Truly, he had never seen her happier, and then, while on the train to meet her and win her over, he wondered if he was doing the right thing. He thought she was barking for giving Malfoy a chance to explain, and he wanted nothing more than to hex the dirty ferret into oblivion. It wasn't his choice though, and he shouldn't interfere. That was one thing that him and Hermione didn't do, they didn't involve themselves in their romantic lives.

That could have been the problem with them all along, the reason it took him as long as it had for him to see that she was the one for him. He had been a fool but was he being a fool then, thinking that she would give Malfoy up for him. Regardless of what Malfoy had done and regardless if Harry loved her.

Harry sighed and leaned back on the uncomfortable seat. He placed his hands inside of his coat and felt something inside with what he thought was a candy wrapper, but inspecting it in his hand he saw that it was a folded note in Ginny's handwriting.

_Don't come back until you have her, Harry!_

He didn't question how she managed to do it, he was glad he saw it.

Ten years was long enough. Harry wasn't going to wait after he knew what he wanted. Not when it came to Hermione. His housemate, his best friend. It was meant to be them, everything pointed to it and he refused to be blinded to it anymore.

Hermione deserved better than Malfoy, and if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he was better than him.

Harry dozed off an hour later. He figured himself tired beyond the ability to properly function for he never slept in public places. His history condemned such carefree (and stupid) acts.

However, when he saw where he was all such thoughts vanished. He arrived, and he instantly worried how Hermione would take him. It was her private vacation, but he rationalized in his head that if Malfoy could be there he should be welcomed, too. At that he wondered if he spent too much time with Ginny.

He walked the rest of the way and by the time he got there it was well past noon. The house he recognized as something that could only belong to Hermione. It wasn't possibly something she would have picked out in her younger days but as she got older she wanted a vacation from everything that she had suffered from in the war. She carried magic to a place that held its own magic for her.

It appeared vacant and he confirmed it when he looked into each of its dark windows, unable to see a thing. No sign of life. He sat on the step, rubbing his hands nervously on his trousers. He would wait for her and when she came he would tell her everything.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The sky painted itself pink and yellow, the sun setting gently into the ocean. Draco didn't intend to keep them out so late, but after the picnic (hiring more of those muggles to set it up before arrival) they had such a great time, that he took her dancing. That time, she didn't move away from him, she danced, and he took his joy in the way her hips moved, her feet on the beat, and her heart against his.

They had gone to the local shops, and he bought her a new pair of slippers. They had dinner at a restaurant decorated with strung lights. They walked on the beach then, their shoes in their hands, the sand squishing between their toes. It was perfect, the perfect day. She was perfect.

Hermione wore that smile that lasted all day, the same she wore on their first dates. Feeling bubbling excitement of the rest of their night together, he raised their joint hands and twirled her under his arm. The light caught in her hair and glowed in her eyes. He believed he had never loved her more than in that very moment and he felt a crushing weight on his shoulders, on his heart and he realized why they called it "falling in love," because he was descending right into her. He wanted their souls to crash and the earth to shake under their feet. He kissed her, his fingers tangled in her moonlit hair.

Her smile widened. "What is it, Draco?"

"I love you."

"I do too. I love you."

He shook his head because she wouldn't understand. When he said "love" he meant that she was everything to him. The crushing, the guilt when he thought of how he almost lost her long before he would have missed her. He would have though, he believed that at some point in his future he would be looking for something that didn't exist, a reason he couldn't name. Because her name was "mudblood" and she would have been gone before he knew.

Draco kissed her again, to lose those emotions in her mouth. He hated those emotions, the strength that felt like he would wither. He thought she didn't understand, only she knew. Hermione comprehended the strength long before he had, and she used it as he buried it until he exploded.

"Draco? Are you well?"

Slowly, he nodded. "I..." He decided on the truth. "I just realized how much you mean to me."

She sighed but the smile remained. "You're remarkable."

"Did I ever tell you I was sorry?"

"Yes."

"Vaguely," he told her, because he remembered how he blew past it, wanting her happy again. To avoid the travesties they went through in their teenage years.

"We don't have to talk about this -"

"Because you know how I hate it."

"Well... Yes."

He held her face. "Hermione Jean Granger, I am terribly sorry for my offenses. All of them. I will never forgive myself."

Her hands ran themselves over his. "_I _forgive you."

Again, he kissed her, holding her so tightly around her waist that he lifted her feet off the ground, and he spun her.

The perfect day.

He contemplated all the different ways they could spend their night in one single moment when they approached the house. All of his ideas that were causing him to stir crumpled and burned.

Harry bloody Potter stood on their step.

They stopped in their walk, and Hermione gasped before hurrying to hug her friend, asking what was wrong, if everyone was okay. Potter, confused, looked past her at him, and there was a glint, something dangerous in his eyes.

"Everyone is fine, Hermione."

"Then why are you here?"

His mouth opened but nothing came out, that stupid look on his face clouding apparently the English language. The most frightening was that Hermione wore a similar look, a name on the tip of her tongue.

Draco went up, his hand on Hermione's back. Part in possessiveness, yes, but mostly for her attention. "Love, I'll welcome Potter in, you put the kettle on?"

She nodded, gathering herself and left them on the step, shaking her head.

Potter turned to him. "What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything, Potty?"

His hands clenched into fists, but he leaned back. "I have my sources."

"Don't Auror your way out of this. Get inside before she starts questioning if I killed you out here."

He seized his arm, but let go as quickly. "You messed up, Malfoy."

"Funny, she doesn't remember it that way."

"What did you do?" There was venom in his voice then, but it didn't scare Draco. He had already won.

"I'll tell her."

"She won't believe you."

"What were you to her in those seven years, Malfoy?"

He had him. Draco thought quickly, his eyes finding Hermione's back in the kitchen picking up the whistling kettle.

"I'm not her enemy. I'm yours. You won the war, Potter. Congratulations. But for all the gold in the world, you won't win this one."

"I'd love to make that bet with you. All I have to tell her is that she came to me that night you slept with your subordinate."

Draco grinned, and he saw the contract in Potter's eyes. The slight worry. At least some things hadn't changed. "Go ahead. Tell her how you took advantage of her that night. Then I'll tell her that I didn't do what you said I did, that it was a misunderstanding."

"You'll lie."

"I don't lie. I stretch the truth, but I never lie." For the first time, he spilled it to Potter. "I didn't sleep with Baxter. Nothing happened, she came on to _me_ and Hermione walked in at an unfortunate moment. It _was_ a misunderstanding. But you... You took advantage of her weakness."

"Let Hermione hear you call her weak."

"Let her hear what happened." He nodded to the door, but when Potter didn't move, he grinned the same grin he had when he was torturing First Years in school.

"Sorry, Potter. You had your chance." He bowed him in, and Potter's hand shot out pushing him off the step and into the weeds. His breath was taken from the fall, but Draco didn't retaliate.

He won.

"I'm not giving up," Potter said as he walked in.

* * *

Something painful pulled at the edges of her brain. It was instant when she saw Harry. It was so strong that she went temporarily blind, her hand slipping off the counter, and before she fell it came back, like someone turning on the lights. It must have been the sea air, she told herself.

"Are you boys alright?" Hermione scanned Draco and Harry carefully as they came in. Draco looked smug while Harry looked downtrodden.

"Dandy," Draco answered, kissing her cheek.

Harry nodded in consent. Something was wrong. She poured the tea and they sat. It was too quiet, especially for Draco and Harry in the same room, much less the same table.

"Harry..." She didn't know how to phrase the question. Whatever it was, he wouldn't say in front of Draco. So she settled with asking, "is this about work?"

"No... I must go." He stood, the chair scraping the tile.

"Harry, no. What is -" She looked at Draco pleadingly. "Draco, may I please speak with Harry alone?"

Draco kissed her hair, and left his tea, calling over his shoulder. "Take as long as you wish."

Something about the way he said that left her unsettled but she would deal with it later, if she could remember. There seemed to be a lot of things lately that she wasn't remembering.

The side of Harry's profile faced her. He had grown a lot since that little boy she knew. He was more rugged, his face scruffy from a couple of days sans shaving. He was a man. A wizard.

"There's this witch," he began, not once glancing at her. It was easier for him that way, she knew, whenever he was discussing anything personal or painful (most of it being the same thing). "I think I'm in love with her."

"That's wonderful, Harry."

"Yes, it is," he sounded uncertain.

"What are you doing here then?"

"I... Didn't know what to do about it?"

"Why don't you ask Ginny?"

"I... I wanted a second opinion."

"I think you should tell her."

His head bobbed up and down. His hair was messier than usual, as if he truly had not ran a brush through it. "Okay."

He was lying, she knew he was. "Harry -"

"I gotta go. Thanks for the tea." He was absent-minded, he walked out the front door, not seeing anything around him. She chased him out, but there was a crack, and he was gone.

There was that pulling at her brain, a constant ache. She felt a little sick, and she swayed to the bedroom. Draco peered at her hopefully over the bed, but his smile slipped.

"What's wrong, love?"

She sat on the bed, her fingertips to her forehead. Something was wrong. "I must be tired."

"It was a long day," he agreed, pushing her shoulders onto the bed. "I'll make you feel better." His lips were on her neck and the pain subsided. The more he touched her, the more she forgot about it, the more it became a discomfort, like sitting in those library chairs but now - like then, it was worth it, every throb, if she could feel more of him.

* * *

Over and over the waves crashed. Constant, never changing. Unknowing to what laid beneath them and the world that grew and fell in and around. He ached to be something like that. He thought he was near, that the war had done him in sometimes, like he was on the brink, and there were days where it hurt. Everything hurt too much, a touch on a burn that never healed.

He turned back to Hermione's house, and the bedroom light went off. It was salt in a wound, and he took a deep breath. He thought of going home and he thought of drawing papers up on Malfoy, but of what? Harry had no proof. That was always his problem. He thought of talking to Ginny, but he nixed that as quickly as it came, because he knew what she would say.

_"Harry, you go back and you tell her what happened!"_

He couldn't and Ginny wouldn't understand. Neville wasn't dating Parkinson and Parkinson hadn't done something to him... Hermione didn't act uncomfortable, and she should have. It wasn't her, there was a film there. It was like she didn't remember him.

Malfoy poisoned her. That much he knew, but how to get her back without damaging her? He wasn't a Healer.

There was only one thing he could think of, and that was to play along with him. He would win Hermione back.

He traveled down the beach, recalling a hotel he heard of on his way there. It was supposedly too grand for his tastes, but it would do until he could get Hermione home.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Hermione kept a few vials of potion for headaches. She stared at them lined up neatly in her medicine cabinet and was not convinced that they would last through her vacation. She hadn't brewed more because who would think of headaches on a vacation? She felt her temple, contemplating saving them in case it worsened. It wasn't unbearable after all.

Draco peeked his head in through the crack of the bathroom door. "Alright, Hermione?"

She nodded, opening the door up the rest of the way. "My head hurts a little."

He frowned. "You should stay here then."

"I told Harry I'd meet him for dinner."

"As your boyfriend, I should have a say in this."

"What would that be?"

"Stay here and rest."

"Draco," she sighed. "Harry is my best friend. He needs me now."

"This is your vacation."

She kissed his cheek. "An hour."

He glowered at her back, she could feel it as she walked to the living room. "I'll be counting the minutes Hermione." It wasn't meant to be sweet and that bothered her like nettles in her shoes. Nonetheless, he held the neckline of her coat helping her put it on.

Facing him, pulling at the sleeves, she said seriously, "I love you, Draco. I trust that you will eat, won't you?"

"I'm not a child."

She took a breath, reminding herself of the habit she had, but then again, she grew up with Harry and Ron. "I'm sorry." She turned to the door, but he caught her hand and pulled her back to him.

"I love you, too." He kissed her two seconds longer than normal, and he let her go.

* * *

It was hard to let Hermione leave. He had won, so what was he worried about? If Potter did risk their friendship (he wasn't Draco, who would risk everything, including every knut he had in his vault) and told her the truth she would believe him. Not only would he lose Hermione but he would end up in Azkaban. Yet, that conclusion didn't make him go after her, to tell her everything. He would take his own risk and Potter could take his. All for the girl.

Draco held the curtain watching her back become smaller and smaller, until she was fully out of his view. Still, he did not leave, not until there was a knock at the back door. Draco reluctantly left his post to answer it.

Cook stood there too cheerfully with a suitcase. Draco scowled, snatching them out of his hand. "I told you to leave them. You're fired."

Cook nodded as if it wasn't a bothersome thing to hear. "Okay, but I thought I could meet this woman -"

"Who said it was a woman?"

Cook smiled the same knowing smile that his uncle always had and it infuriated Draco further. It wasn't Cook he was mad at, it was Hermione meeting Potter, but nonetheless Cook would pay for it.

Cook let the suitcase fall with a thud. "Uncle Theo wants to know when you're coming home?"

"Why is he asking?"

"Because, 'it was irresponsible to leave an incompetent business hopeful in charge of an empire,'" he mocked his uncle.

Draco laughed. "He's right, but I had no other choice."

"She must be something." His tone implied that he already knew. "_Golden._"

It was times like those that Draco wished he could fire him for good, not every week and be expecting and needing him back in the morning. He gripped the edge of the table where he found himself leaning, as if he was in some sort of pain. Pain, yes, at the thought of Hermione meeting Potter.

"Hermione Granger, you fool. Now leave."

"Where is she?"

"_Out!_"

Cook smiled, inclined his head in a lazy bow and left.

If Hermione was there to witness his behavior, she would have smacked him. If she was there, he wouldn't have behaved that way. If she was there, she wouldn't be with Potter.

Like a madman he searched the cabinets for Firewhiskey. It didn't have to be Firewhiskey, it could have been any alcohol, but he found none. How could he forget that Hermione hated to drink? Oh, yeah, because his mind was consumed with the nightmarish clarity of her and Potter kissing, of her lying in _his_ arms naked, how he touched her. Potter caressing _his_ Hermione.

Draco was shaking, bending to grasp the basin, his head bowed, willing himself to get it together. It was a figment of his imagination. Hermione loved him, didn't she? She slept with Potter. Harry Potter. The bane of his existence. The reason his father went to Azkaban, the reason he lied bleeding in Myrtle's bathroom.

That was it, he couldn't take it anymore. The image unfolded into a storybook love of their lives while Draco glared on enviously. He ripped open his stupid muggle suitcase and took out his stupid muggle clothing and raced to stop the inevitable between the stupid half-muggle and the gorgeous muggle-born.

* * *

Harry half-expected her not to show. It would be a good enough reason as any to return to her vacation house and hex Malfoy. He would give it ten minutes past the time they had set. He wanted the excuse because right then, he couldn't charge him with anything. Proof is something that he never grew accustomed to and yet, his whole career weighed on it.

The cafe was roads away from the beach but the saltiness and bits of sand carried. It was quaint with genuinely friendly waiters and strings of collected seashells around the molding, and nets hooked with fishing gear, and a giant plastic fish over the entrance. There were lots of things to stare at, but he chose his pocket watch, the one that Mrs. Weasley had kindly given him.

She had three minutes, and there was the clinging of the bell above the door, and there she was. Dressed plainly in jeans and a blouse she still looked as beautiful as she was at the ball. Harry felt he learned things too late, and he felt that Hermione was the worse of those things.

He stood and she smiled, wondering at his odd behavior. Quickly he sat, his chair making a loud sound against the tile. He flinched. Hermione sat across from him, her hands folded on the table, her fingers touching her menu that displayed "the best fish and chips" in the county.

"You don't fool me, Harry Potter. What is wrong?"

_I think you've been poisoned._

_ Malfoy did it._

_ You love the wrong man._

_ I need a vial of your last memory in London._

_ You should love me._

"Sorry to disturb your vacation," he said instead.

Hermione leaned forward, her face marred by concern. It was something he hadn't seen since the last battle, and he looked uncomfortably down at his watch again. Time had suddenly sped up.

"Harry, you're scaring me."

_Now or never _the voice that sounded frighteningly like Ginny said in his head. He had truly spent too much time with her while Hermione worked. "You should be scared of Malfoy."

Stunned she fell back in her seat. "I thought you were okay with this."

"I thought I was too."

"I don't understand. You stood up at his trial and exempted him."

"He's not right for you, Hermione."

"Because he was a Death Eater," she whispered, her eyes scanning the room for eavesdroppers but they were busy robustly chatting among themselves.

"Because he's Malfoy!"

"You are the one that talked to Ron, got him to see sense. How can you take it back?"

"You don't know him as well as you think you do."

Angrily she stood, and Harry inwardly flinched remembering the birds she sent on Ron, how she yelled at him to return her wand to her, punching Malfoy, and a number of other things that Hermione was capable of.

"If there's something you know, tell me now. No more secrets, Harry, you promised me."

Harry remained quiet. He couldn't tell her, but he should have because Malfoy had the worst timing in the world.

* * *

It was called _The Sea Shack,_ and it was a shack. The place was made out of blue shingles and life preservers. Why would anyone need a life preserver so far from the ocean? Did the place frequently become under waves? That would explain the smell, the places that needed repainting and how it appeared that if Draco so much as let the door close behind him they would be under its pitiful rubble.

All of that escaped his mind at the sight of his archenemy's face. Potter looked scared, and Draco would have laughed gleefully if he hadn't seen his girlfriend's face. For that small moment in time he felt sorry for the bloke. Hermione had given him those looks for seven years and no matter the time apart it still sent his skin prickling. Not that she ever knew that, of course.

"Everything alright," he asked carefully coming to stand beside her. His hand hovered over her waist, afraid to touch her, that she would turn around and smack him. It was five years ago and he swore he never regained full feeling in that cheek. Then again, Hermione said he was an exaggerating fool and that was true among the many things she said.

"Yes, we're done. I'm hungry, Draco. Lets go." She turned and stormed out, the door banging behind her loudly enough to break the annoying chatter, all eyes on them.

"Now it's over," Draco chose to say, going after Hermione before Potter had a chance to respond.

Hermione was further down the beach than he expected, her legs eating up large strides. Although he couldn't see her face yet, jogging up next to her, he suspected she was glaring at the past incident that had taken place moments before his arrival.

"Talk to me."

"I don't feel like talking," she seethed.

"I don't either," he replied honestly. He would much rather scoop her away inside the house to have a not-so-quiet night. Unfortunately, the sounds were going to be far different than he wished. "Talk to me anyway."

She spun on him, and he stumbled back, water soaking his socks. Inwardly he cursed Merlin's name.

"Do you love me, Draco?" Before he could answer, she continued, "Draco Malfoy, if you tell me you love me I'll never question it but it better be the truth or I swear on Godric's head I will curse you to the day your were born."

What kind of _stupid _question was _that_? Forget ravishing the girl, he was truly curious as to what Potter said to her that made her question such a thing. He risked his relationship with his family to be with her. He wanted her to move in. He loved her enough to break laws beyond his family and lie and erase her memory. He was angry and hopeless, but he sighed, took her face in his hands and looked her straight into her eyes.

They weren't the same eyes he had once knew. The eyes he was staring at were losing their depth. They weren't the warm brown of coco. It was as though someone was draining them of their life. They were milky and it disturbed him greatly, but he didn't look away.

"I love you, Hermione."

She nodded, no small feat in how tight he kept her face. She looked up into his eyes, a look that should have moved worlds, but past the freckle above her lip was a trickle of bright blood. He let her go, and she felt her nose, the red smeared on her fingertip.

"Oh no," is all she said.

"Lets get you home." He picked her up in his arms the way he thought of doing earlier. She kept her head back pinching the bridge of her nose. Worriedly he asked, "do you get nosebleeds often?"

Nasal she responded, "this is the first time."

He didn't like the sound of that. Was it a symptom of the potion he slipped her? He would have to check his great-grandfather's potion book. Once more, he wordlessly cursed at settling with potions because he was rubbish with oblivating. Anyhow, he was a right coward, not being able to point a wand at her again.

What kind of spell had _she_ put him under?


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Harry walked alone to the hotel. He would order room service, but for the commotion that he caused the waiters he left a few knuts. To get his mind off of what Malfoy and Hermione were doing he thought of what would be on the menu.

He thought of Hermione and her eyes. It was hard not to notice them. Coffee with too much milk. He would have to consult the Department of Illegal Brewing and Uses of Potions. He would send a letter to Brians, he was always willing to help with no questions asked. The others in the ministry were all too curious as to what he was doing in his office, as if it would be any different than any other Auror.

He slid the key through the lock waiting for the blinking green light and click, and strode in. He threw the key card on a corner table and then stumbled back, his heart kicking, his wand from his inside jacket pocket held high at a shadow sitting in the chair beneath the drawn drapes. When his heart kicked into slow gear he lowered his wand. It was only Ginny, sipping tea.

"Merlin and Knights, what are you doing here?!"

"Having tea," she answered simply.

"This isn't funny, Gin, you have to stop dropping in like this!"

She shrugged noncommittally. "You didn't write, I worried."

He sat in the chair beside her as she poured him a cup. "She was angry. She yelled. Lucky I wasn't cursed."

"Why would she be? There were two people there that night."

"I didn't tell her about us."

"What did you tell her?"

"That Malfoy wasn't any good."

Mouth open she stole his cup from his outstretched hands, it clattering, the brown tea spilling over the side. "Go back and tell her!"

Harry didn't respond. Elbows on his knees he stared at his clasped hands. He knew he was being cowardly. He could defeat Voldemort but he couldn't face his best friend. Neville had more gumption than he did.

Ginny placed her hand over his. "You have to tell her, Harry. She needs to know." When he was stoic in his silence, she released his hands and straightened her back. "If you don't, I'll tell her." His head snapped to her, but the icy glare didn't deter her. "It'll come better from you but I swear on all twenty of my Pgymy Puffs, I will tell her."

He smiled. "I thought you had eighteen?"

"I did, but Harlond had twins."

Laughing, he thought that she desperately needed to do something else besides training and raising Pygmy Puffs for the joke shop her brothers ran. He stood. "I'll tell her."

She followed him. "I'll join you in the lobby. I'd like a room here. I haven't been to the ocean in ages."

"Does Neville know?"

"I'll write him. He has detention _again_."

"What did the boy do this time," he asked as he pressed the down arrow for the elevator.

"He blew up half of the classroom."

"Doesn't that sort of thing happen in Potions?"

"It was in Herbology!" She waved her hand away but the irritated look didn't vanish until they walked out into the round lobby with its crystal clear glass windows and bright lights that replicated in the shiny marble floors.

At the reception desk stood Malfoy waving a key card at a flustered man and Hermione with her hand on his arm, explaining things to what seemed to be in a much calmer tone. Harry first wondered what they were doing, but an uninvited voice entered his mind, demanding to know if that was the way Hermione wanted to spend her life, calming Malfoy like a child.

Harry hadn't realized that he stopped in front of the closing elevator; people fussing at him to move. Ginny pushed him forward, and squeezed his hand for support. That was when Hermione and Malfoy looked over.

Hermione was first dismayed then angry. She stormed over and Harry wasn't hearing her, not a word of what she was saying. He was looking at Malfoy and his gloating smile.

"Harry!"

"He loves you, Hermione," Ginny said hurriedly, coming to his defense. "He's in love with you." She looked from him to her. "I'm here to make sure you know that." She walked away, leaving Harry to counter his demons, the biggest one at the reception desk.

Hermione shook her head, tears in her eyes. "You're... You're in love with me? Is that why you're here?"

"Hermione..." He wished Ginny had stayed, he couldn't form a coherent sentence. It would be different, if he could tell her the cause, but the thought of not being able to be with her - even as a friend, the thought was too painful to tell her the truth. In his head, he debated back and forth the right course of action, and he was too late. Her mouth was moving, she was talking.

"The truth, Harry."

"Malfoy isn't right for you." Could he not say anything else?

"Are you here to ruin my vacation?"

"Herm -"

_SLAP!_

Harry held his cheek. It was on fire, angry red. It burnt his fingertips where he touched. He didn't break eye contact with Hermione, and he saw that her eyes were less brown and more sandy, and that scared him more than her and he never thought that would be possible.

"How dare you," she hissed. "You were supposed to be my friend."

"I am your friend."

At that moment, there was a grunt, and Malfoy was bent at the waist below a curtain of flaming hair, Ginny's fist coming down to her side with the visage stolen from Malfoy. Harry felt like the world was exploding into chaos.

Hermione helped Malfoy up and together they left the hotel with one furious glare back at them.

Ginny went to stand beside Harry, her head higher than usual. "I know that was uncalled for, but it felt so good! I should've done it ages ago." When she inspected where his gaze was fixated on, she smiled and nudged him. "Tell her the truth. Trust me."

"I don't think I know what the truth is anymore, Gin."

"What do you mean?"

"I know I love her but I don't know who she loves. Me or Malfoy? Didn't she sleep with me because she thought Malfoy slept with that woman?"

He hated her sympathy, the way she frowned and pursed her lips. She stood in front of him, her hands on his arms. "I understand Malfoy."

"How can you understand that prat?!"

"I know you've wanted to start over - to make someone forget a mistake you've made. I do believe it was a mistake. The way he looks at her is the way Neville looks at me. Malfoy wouldn't intentionally hurt her but he did what everyone has wanted to do at some point, and it was stupid. Love makes us do stupid things, you know this."

He nodded. He did know.

"Give her choices back to her." She let him go.

* * *

"How dare he. How _dare_ he! My best friend!" Hermione felt tears on her cheeks and she hated the way she was breaking down in front of Draco. He could barely keep up as she trekked her way across the sand. She couldn't get home fast enough, to put as much distance between her and Harry James Potter as she could. She had never in her whole life been so _angry_ at him.

Draco's hand locked around her arm pulling her to face him. "Hermione, it's over."

All she kept seeing was Harry's glazed face, the worry she couldn't decipher, and the sting in her hand from where it connected with his cheek.

She had hit her best friend. She hit Harry. It was a terrible thing to do, she knew, but why was she hurting so badly over it? Why did she feel as though she made a grave error? Why did her head hurt so badly to where the world blurred its edges?

"Hermione?"

Draco's arms were at the length of hers, grasping her elbows, and she didn't know it but she was leaning on him. Her knees were buckling and her brain was being stabbed. Over and over again she felt sick and couldn't breathe.

"Hermione!"

She held onto his shirt but it wasn't his shirt, it was sand. It fell through the cracks of her fingers like in an hourglass. She screamed and screamed. Someone else was screaming too. A far off sort of angry tone that disappeared into the waves.

"POTTER! POTTER! Hermione..."

* * *

With Ginny at his side they watched Hermione crumple to the sand. In the endless space her scream somehow rung, rebounding back to him. It was more than an old nightmare, it was a memory. He ran but the beach was slow under his feet. He fell to his knees at her side, and gripped her hand which hung limp and cold in his.

"Hermione?" He didn't know if it was him that asked, he couldn't feel anything but her lifeless hand and all he could see was her pale face. It sounded like his voice though, but croaky with uncertainty.

"What have you done, Malfoy?"

* * *

Draco combed his fingers through his hair. Over and over. He would be bald by the time he was thirty, and that woman would be the cause of it. He hoped she would be the cause of it because the current situation wasn't looking good. He killed her.

Her eyes were closed, but that was okay because he could pretend that she was sleeping. It was only when he looked at her mouth that his heart sped up, but not for the reason it usually possessed. She wasn't talking. Hermione was always saying something, usually a funny joke she heard from the Weasley's or a story from work and almost always information from a book she read.

Draco clawed at the back of his neck, his eyes on the ocean. There wasn't an end to it. Maybe that's why Hermione loved it. Things ended. School, her friends, her life changing again and again from outside causes. Maybe she wanted one thing in her life to last as long as the ocean.

He wished he was as still as her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The coffee was cold and bland, the taste of St. Mungos. The lights were dimmed and the windows showed double, the darkness pressing in. Despite the torches it was able to reach in making the empty loneliness creep through his being.

Draco wasn't used to feeling lonely. He had plenty of playmates as a child. Theo was always over causing havoc with him. He lost count of how many faux snitches they lost over the years playing Quidditch, how many times they were punished for breaking an expensive vase or being too loud.

Those days were in the past, and he was an adult and feeling lonely should be a child's emotion, but without Hermione, he was lonely. Even at work he thought of coming home to her. That was why he still had the master key to his place waiting for her. He didn't want to waste another moment without her in his life.

Potter's mistrustful eyes followed him from end to end of the room. They watched as he ran his hands through his hair so many times it had become greasy and messy. He watched as Draco fell apart and if they didn't have a small audience of misshapen shapes of people then he would have cursed him.

It had been Ginny that had taken control of the situation apparating Hermione to St. Mungo's, them following behind, and it was she who gave the needed information. Potter nor Draco had said a word to each other.

They had been waiting an hour for news. Draco was ready to complain for the sixth time when he saw Potter's reflection in the window approaching him. He stopped his pacing and waited for words that he knew would anger him.

"Tell me what you used on Hermione."

Draco thought it was in his best interest to be silent.

"Tell them what you used."

He turned, cracking a smile he didn't feel. "Gee, Potter, I'm beginning to think you suspect me of foul play."

"You could save her life."

He shrugged Potter off praying that that wasn't true. He didn't want to tell the Healers what he had done before Hermione knew. She needed to hear it from him, not from a stranger.

"Tell them and I'll vouch for you."

Draco scrutinized him and saw that he was telling the truth. He wondered why, but then he remembered Hermione leaving him at the hotel, and Potter must have known that he had nothing else to lose.

When Draco was going to give in, to march through those double wide doors to tell her Healer what he had done and every ingredient that was put into her body without her knowledge, the Healer walked through, his balding scalp pointed at reading his list.

"Ms. Granger?"

Ginny stood from where she had been slyly keeping watch on Draco and Potter and they all gathered in a half circle around the Healer. They waited as he stared at each of them in turn.

"... Which one of you is Ms. Granger's family?"

"We are," Potter and Weaslette said together.

The Healer looked disbelieving but didn't question it. "Fine, very well then. The patient had ingested what we think was a concoction, a mix of herbs designed to change the body and mind magically," he said as if they were the dumbest wizards and witch alive. "We have neutralized it and she may be taken home."

"Sir," Potter said before he could go on his way, "there were symptoms. I believe she has forgotten a few days."

"I'm not surprised," said the Healer, bored with the conversation.

"Will she regain her memory?"

The Healer sighed pressing the clipboard to his round stomach. That action - his attitude - infuriated Draco. It was the last straw in that very bad day. Hermione having dinner with Potter, the hotel finding him at the "alternate" address to inform him that he left his key in the room, going all the way to the hotel to sign out, seeing Potter again, being punched by the Weaslette and Hermione lying in the sand like death.

In one swift movement Draco had the Healer's robe fronts in his fists pinning him against the wall, the clipboard clattering by their feet. "Listen here you stinking pillock, her name is Hermione Granger. Say her damn name. She fought in the war, give her respect." Draco threatened with his eyes because he couldn't do so aloud in the presence of the Head Auror. There was only one thing that the Healer needed to know, and that he was disposable but Hermione was not.

The Healer's wild eyes zeroed in on Draco's left arm where the Dark Mark shimmered menacingly. Draco could feel him shiver, and he gleamed, happy for the first time in many years that he had it.

Hands gripped him, pulling him off the trembling man, Potter throwing him into a chair, it squeaking leaving Draco scrambling for the arms and glaring at Potter's back. He hated him. He loathed him.

Potter's gaze showed sympathy for the Healer, and he said, "we'll take her home."

"No you won't," Draco said, standing up straightening his lapel. "She's my girlfriend and I'm staying with her. I'll take her home."

He faced him, quietly speaking. "You must be off your rocker, Malfoy, if you think I'd let the person who poisoned her take her anywhere. Go home. If you don't see Hermione ever again I will not arrest you."

Draco laughed, chilly and void of feeling. "Arrest me under an impression that will not hold up in Wizengamot." He sat in the chair, leaning back gleefully, until Potter said something that was most unexpected.

"Do you love her?"

He felt his smile fall, and he looked to the doors where she was somewhere beyond. He wondered if she was wondering about him, if she knew how much he would give to take it all back in that precise moment. Not just the poison, but the bullying, the hatred that burned his soul. He was poison to her, worse than the potion. He'd give anything to be as good for her as Potter, and that thought killed him. The mark on his arm, his blood – it was his own poison.

Not comfortable in his vulnerable position, he got to his feet. Him and Potter were the same height.

"More than gold and blood," he said through gritted teeth.

Weaslette came to Potter's side, and insignificantly Draco leaned back. In the center of his stomach was a bluing bruise the shape of that witch's fist. He would always keep a wary eye on her.

"Let Malfoy go in first."

Potter's mouth opened to object, but Weaslette cut across him. "Hermione didn't fight with him. You can't charge him with anything so let him go in." Weaslette's face suddenly hardened when it was obvious Potter hadn't agreed. "You should have told her the truth, but it's too late now."

Draco left them to go at it, the Healer, shaken and clearly displeased that it was Draco who was going in, lead him through the white hallway.

* * *

"It's not too late," Harry snapped at Ginny. He wasn't known for ever stepping out of line with her - as it tended to be a very dangerous thing to do. He sighed and plopped down in the chair that Malfoy vacated.

With all their commotion they had the attention of the whole waiting area. A man with a crooked mouth was frowning at them, but Harry couldn't tell if that was a true frown or a spell gone awry. A lady's one eye (a dangerous cyclopes curse) was narrowed with anger.

"You're right," Ginny agreed, "it's not too late. It will be though if you waste one more day sulking. Lets go back to the hotel. We'll see Hermione tomorrow and you'll tell her the truth." She sat, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Harry, I promise you that if you don't tell her I will give you the best bat bogey hex I've ever done."

He smiled. "Think she'll forgive me?"

"Her heart is bigger than her brain - and that's saying something." She pulled on his arm, forcing him up. "Lets go now before they come out. We've given these people enough of a show." She looked at their crowd, and said snappily, "what do you think you lot are looking at?"

They all hurried to show interest in something else, and together him and Ginny left to disapparate in the designated spots set in the back past the desks. While in the past the thought of leaving Hermione with Malfoy was not only dangerous but unacceptable, he found that the new and "reformed" Malfoy wasn't any different. It was only Ginny's insistent pull that made him leave her.

* * *

Draco had seen people mercilessly tortured and killed. He was not a witness to war, he was apart of it, and for the most part, he was only trying to survive it. There was nothing he thought that could be worse than what he had gone through, but he was mistaken.

Hermione, lying in a white room on a white bed, pale and sickly turned out to be his boggart. It was a different kind of horror. It was the kind that existed after a war, after losing family and friends and being left with something and being so close to it being taken away, too. It angered him, and while he wanted nothing more than to take it out on the doctor that led him there, he was gone and Draco knew it was his fault. She was there because of him.

Quietly he sat down in a chair by her bed. Unable to help himself, he touched her splayed hair, smelled the coconut shampoo she had used that morning. It smelled the same as his, and for that reason alone, he never felt closer to her. Through her tresses he ran his fingers, and he silently begged her to open her eyes, to check the color and affirm with himself that she was well.

Her hair, it was a stern brown. He began searching for another color, and it was there, under the mass that he found a honey. It was one strand and it did not stand out very much but there it was. Proof that Hermione wasn't pure of anything. He loved her more, and he felt as though his hard heart would crack.

Slowly she opened her eyes. They locked with his and while he used to wonder what she saw in them, he was too involved with hers. They were brown, not a bit of milkiness in them. There different shades of brown but all beautiful and all her, and without a word or a 'hello' he kissed her lips. He kissed her because Potter never got his question answered. No one knew if she remembered. He pressed and poured out every bit of pressure that was hurting and stretching his weary and terrified heart.

When he parted, he waited. His hand, on the bed by her hip, was taken by her hand.

"What did the Healer say, Draco?"

Some Healer! He hadn't even told her what happened. It worked for his benefit. "Too much sea air, and too much Potter and Weaslette. He says you should come home and have a vacation at my Manor where those things are not present."

"Sea air and friends are not a medical condition," she laughed lightly. It brought color back to her cheeks and for that, he kissed both of them.

"You'll be fine. Shall we go back to the cottage?"

"And tomorrow home?"

He nodded. "Whatever you like, Hermione. Whatever you want."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

Draco hadn't called Hermione by her surname since they saw each other in Bexley. However, it felt like a "Granger" morning. She shifted the bed as she dressed, waking him from his slumber, but the sight of her nightgown sliding up her thigh and the edge of her knickers showing was a good enough reason to roll out of bed with her.

She went briskly to the kitchen spinning knobs for the cooker, and he was irritated, mostly because she had skipped her strict routine for washing her face and teeth before everything else. It was then that he would brush his teeth and wash his face with her, and he would place himself behind her, arms around her waist, cheek to cheek, inhaling her. He had never been a morning person but with Hermione, that routine was worth waking for.

"What are you _doing,_ Granger? It's too early for this nonsense."

She glanced worriedly at her last name, and then she smiled as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I'm making breakfast, _Malfoy_. Breakfast is supposed to come early."

"Before the sun?!"

"Quiet, you," she laughed -

_Knock, knock._

Hermione stilled, a spatula held over a pan. "You did sign out of the hotel, didn't you, Draco?"

"Better set tea out." He knew exactly who it was. "We may as well hear him out."

Her jaw was set. "You're the sensible one now?"

"If you have the right to break our bathroom routine," he responded coming closer and closer to her, "then I have the right to be sensible." He kissed her jaw, feeling her cheek pressing against his as she grinned.

Before Draco had the door open halfway he said in his nicest voice, "nice to see you, Potter, Weaslette. What do we owe this pleasure?"

"To see Hermione," Potter said with obvious effort to keep his tone neutral. It failed miserably.

"We are leaving tonight. I suspect we'll be going to the Manor where you are certainly not welcome. So please, be quick."

Potter and Weaslette rushed in, and while the Weaslette made herself comfortable on the couch, crossing her legs very lady-like, Potter was standing with eyes on Hermione's back like he was a moment from grabbing her and leaving. Draco couldn't have that, so he clapped his hand on his back.

"Have a seat, Potter. Tea will be ready momentarily."

It looked as though Potter was going to take a step toward the kitchen, but faster than Draco would have thought (even for a Seeker) he turned and was whispering hastily. "I'll tell her Malfoy. Tell her and I won't."

Draco realized a beat late that Potter was trying to do him a favor. At least, that's the way Potter was attempting to sugar coat it, because in reality it was a way out for Potter. Draco wasn't going to bite. Telling Hermione meant the end for him.

In the last second of Draco's chance there was a loud clattering in the kitchen, a shattering of unknown dishes. All of them spun toward Hermione, Weaslette on her feet. They all stared as she came to the doorway, and Draco was going to make his way to her but Potter's hand was out, stopping him from approaching, and for that time being he allowed it, because Hermione looked frightened, shaking, her chin to her chest. Then, she looked up, and she cried out.

"You cheated on me?" Her eyes found Potter. "We..." Her hands went to her hair, as if she was checking to make sure that her brain was still intact.

Their time was up. She remembered. It was too late for the both of them.

"Hermione -"

She held out a shaky finger freezing Draco in his tracks. "Don't - don't come any closer! How _could_ you?! You - you... Did something. You _poisoned _me?" Her voiced cracked on the last word, her eyes frantic with the images flooding her, and it was like watching an angel fall, and there was not a suitable prayer for her wings. "I trusted you... I thought you were different." She cried, sliding against the wall, holding her head like she was holding his heart and it was crushed in her grasp.

Suddenly, she stood, her wand out and they all ducked. The window shattered, the door flew open, the coffee table upturned. In the fetal position Draco waited for the onslaught to be over, and when all was silent he heard the soft padding of her slippers. He stood seeing her back out the door.

"_Love_, Hermione. I do a lot of stupid things when I love people."

"That was your reason for it in the war," she screamed at him. "Will that be your reason for _everything_? Love is meant to be trust." She ran, and Draco went to follow, but again, Potter stopped him, his hand on his arm.

"Let her go."

Weaslette ran after her, glass shimmering in her fiery hair. They were both gone, and him and Potter stood alone surveying the damage that they both had caused.

"We deserved that," Potter whispered to himself, his hand dropping from Draco's arm for which he was relieved.

Draco agreed with him but didn't say it. There was only one thing to say: "Fancy a pint of Firewhiskey?"

* * *

"Hermione! Slow down! Stop!"

Hermione could hear Ginny chasing after her. The faster Ginny ran, the faster Hermione ran. It was a matter of time until her friend caught her, after all, she was a Quidditch Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies and Hermione wasn't nearly in the shape that she was in. So, in a seize that Hermione's broken heart jumped at, Ginny had her arm, wrenching her to a stop.

"He lied. They both lied!"

"I know," Ginny said calmly, not out of breath like Hermione.

"You know?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell me."

Ginny pointed to the shack where Hermione had danced with Draco, where there were people having breakfast. They both took their time going to the bar letting their thoughts catch up to the recent events.

Sitting on the stool, Ginny held up two fingers and called, "two tonics." She then faced Hermione very business-like. "Malfoy didn't cheat. It was a misunderstanding and for that you'll have to talk to him. You slept with Harry -"

"I remember that," Hermione snapped, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

She waved her hand dismissively and the bright blood-red tonics were placed in front of them, but neither of them paid any mind. "He loves you. They both do. Harry was afraid of losing you. I suspect he felt he took advantage of you."

"It was me who took advantage of him."

"No matter. It only matters who you love." She picked up her tonic and took a sip.

Hermione shook her head. Her eyes, her cheeks, and her heart was sore. Her head hurt. Physically, emotionally and mentally Hermione felt she had been in a chase with Dementors. There on the beach she had attempted to outrun her demons, Harry and Draco and everything that was to cause her pain and confusion.

How could she love Harry? He was her best friend.

How could she have loved Draco? He tried to poison her.

Since the hospital her head wouldn't stop aching. It was as though there was a glitch and it was attempting to heal itself. Flashes would appear in front of her. Draco and that woman kissing. Harry's hand on her bare stomach. Draco's pleading. Harry letting her go. Draco making love to her. It was too much to bear.

When Hermione returned from her daze she saw that Ginny's tonic was half gone, and Ginny was calmly scanning the men around them. "Go on sabbatical," she said tearing herself away from her perch. "I'll go with you."

"What," Hermione asked, not sure if she had heard that correctly.

"Go on sabbatical," she shrugged. "I'll go with you. Training doesn't begin for weeks. We can go out of the country. Anywhere. We can go to several countries. Hermione, you need to get your head clear and I'm _bored_. Lets just go. We can do it tonight." Her eyes shone with excitement.

Hermione couldn't say no. She downed her tonic in three swallows, one for dimming the scenes replaying themselves in her head and two for bravery.

* * *

Draco and Potter found themselves slumped against the wall across from used to-be the lounge window. They were in a drunken stupor, sure, but Draco's heart hurt less. He suspected Harry's didn't, for he kept staring forlornly at inanimate objects, particularly the books that were the only thing intact in the whole damn room.

He didn't know what to do for the Scarhead. He wasn't one to comfort anyone. So he filled his cup with the last of the second bottle Firewhiskey. He would be surprised if he could stand in the morning. He was dismayed he was conscious now. Hermione's face was the only thing clear in his brain, but if he allowed himself to watch the rolling black clouds he could pretend that her smiling face was truly the last thing he saw her wear.

It began to rain, pattering lightly at first, and then the wind whistled a tune and the pattering was closer, inside the room. The glass they hadn't swept sparkled on the floor as the rain touched each of them. Neither of them stirred to do something about it, because like the inside the outside should reflect the mess.

"What do ya think she'll do," Draco slurred into the nothing but the wizard next to him answered, and it too, sounded like it was directed to nothing.

"Dunno..."

"I saw her slap you, mate. That was brutal."

Potter's head wobbled in what was supposed to be a nod. "Brutal."

"It hurts like hell, doesn't it?"

"Hell."

"Are ya gonna arrest me?"

"Later."

Draco leaned to take a good look at Potter, although he fell flat on his back he didn't flinch, and he didn't sway his gaze. It must have been the first time since the day at Madam Malkins that he didn't see a boy with a scar, the boy who left him in a pool of blood, that turned down his friendship, that bested him at everything and fell in love with the girl he loved. He saw the wizard that excused him and his family from Azkaban, the man that saved his life more times than Draco ever cared to remember, the man that saved the world that Draco would have never been happy in, and it was the man who just happened to love the same witch.

Perhaps it was the alcohol - and he would have liked to believed so, but he said it and he meant it. "When my sentence is over, Owl me, Harry. We can get a drink."

Potter didn't answer until Draco was nearly asleep, and that could have been seconds or minutes. "Or we can be sober, and wait for Hermione."

Malfoy's last thought was interpreting that sentence to mean that Potter didn't believe Hermione was going to come back for years. Potter should have known her best, but Draco knew it wasn't true. Hermione would be back because he loved her and she loved him, and love couldn't be parted for long.

* * *

Harry finished his drink, the fire consuming his insides and he felt warm. He never drunk. Ginny and Hermione had made sure that none of the boys stooped to that, although he had once found Ginny drunk. It was a promise between them that they would never speak of it as long as Ginny never drunk again. Nonetheless, he felt a drink was in order when the women he loved was gone and he was alone in her cottage with his school enemy. What else was there to do, but drink? He felt as though he should have been more cautious as he was drinking with the one who poisoned Hermione but he remembered what Ginny said about Malfoy and he thought her and Hermione were right. Underneath the idiocy there was a shred of goodness, and Hermione loved that.

Crookshanks was an ugly cat. There was no doubt about it, but Hermione doted upon him like he was the most gorgeous feline. That was what she saw in Draco. Hermione saw underneath matted fur and saw good things in people. She saw that Malfoy was good before any of them, and she was smart enough to wait for the goodness to surface. She brought it out but she had no idea of that.

Staying awake was difficult. His eyes wanted to close and his mind wanted to forget. Malfoy was asleep beside him at an odd angle of a 'c' shape. Harry felt himself tip slightly. He was waiting. Waiting for her to come through that door.

She never came.

He felt foolish for being there drunk in her house. Hermione wouldn't have been pleased to find him, but if she did, perhaps he would be coherent enough to explain to her, but what he was going to explain was beyond him. There had to have been something he could say.

He slid to the floor but didn't feel the contact. He didn't feel anything, hardly the desire to be awake. He waited... And waited... The sound of the rain was so loud... He waited... And waited...

Harry fell asleep and the rain had stopped and Hermione wasn't there.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

A lack of schedule was nettlesome to Hermione. For Ginny it was a feeling of freedom. Not knowing where they would be in a week made Hermione question what she would need to buy from the hotel, but Ginny simply laughed at her.

"Hermione, we can buy as we go. I have plenty of money and I know you do too."

That didn't make her feel better.

The beautiful hotel room (that was more of a small house to be lived in) Ginny had a lovely and large stone fireplace. She quickly set it up to the Floo Network for two hours. It was to be one hour, more than adequate time to take their bags and leave to France, but Hermione told her to keep it for an extra hour, for she wanted to leave Harry and Draco with more than a letter again. This was against Ginny's advice but to Hermione, it felt like the right thing to do.

She didn't know what to expect when she arrived at her cottage but what she saw was not it. Her window was gone, the door was halfway off its hinges, her furniture turned over, and her wooden floor darkly stained of last night's storm. Remembering hazily of last night she was well aware it was her that caused the mess and so that was not what caused her jaw to drop. It was Harry and Draco lying on the floor together.

Hands on her hips she stood over them. She wanted to be angry but it was hard when she saw the boys lying away from each other, extremities in uncomfortable positions, their mouths hanging open. Beside them were two empty bottles of Firewhiskey.

She thought it funny how Draco spent the majority of his life believing muggles inferior when they were more alike than he'd know. Both muggle men and wizard men drunk in celebration and heartache. She supposed it was easier for them than cleaning up the mess they made.

Harry soon cracked open an eye, throwing his arm over his face to block the sunlight. He groaned in complaint and kicked out with his foot which collided with Draco's bum. In turn Draco kicked and cursed.

"Have a good night you two?"

They both flinched, and through slits that were their eyes they scrambled to their feet to receive her. In hasty explanation of "sorry's" and "meant to's" they were both talking and both with horribly bad breath. Hermione stepped away cringing at the 'straight-from-the-bottle' scent that blew in her face. They both then fell silent.

Draco held out his palm at his side. "Please don't leave again."

Harry looked from Draco to her. "Please don't, Hermione."

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You both lied to me. I trusted both of you and you lied." She looked at Harry. "You. You should have trusted _me_. We've been friends for ten years, Harry. Everywhere you went, I went with you. After all we've been through you didn't trust _us_? If we can survive what we've survived we could have been okay."

"Could have...?"

His face was too painful and she focused on Draco. "I... Have nothing to say to you." She did in fact have a _lot_ to say to him and she had thought over it all the way there, but looking at him, his guilty expression, the tattoo on his arm, she decided he wasn't entitled to a word of it. Not after she forgave him for seven years of evilness. She turned away.

"Hermione -"

She spun, "No! No, Draco. You've made fun of me, you've thrown killing curses after me, and because you seemed changed I believed it. I believed you had to do what you had to for your family. It wasn't right but I did forgive you and I loved you. I was wrong -"

"You weren't! I made a mistake."

"You made a _mistake_?!"

The silver of Draco's eyes sparked, and he was upon her staring her down. "You wouldn't listen! I begged you to come back but you didn't. I looked everywhere for you to find you at _Potter's_. I saw you two! You cheated on me, Hermione. You misunderstood and you slept with _him_. This was all you. You were looking for a way out because being with an ex-Death Eater was too hard. It was too much for you."

"That is _not _true!" Her arms flew to her sides, her face heating.

"Give me another explanation, I'm dying to hear it."

There was pressure behind Hermione's eyes. She wouldn't cry, she wouldn't allow Draco to pin the fault on her. "Nothing I have done warrants you poisoning me." She glimpsed at the door, her way out. It wasn't going at all like she had planned. "You ruined it." She fiddled with the hem of her blue blouse. "I'm leaving. Ginny's coming with me."

"You're taking the easy way out, Hermione," Draco spat angrily.

Harry stepped forward, concerned. "When will you be back?"

"I don't know. Don't contact me. I'll contact you." She didn't look at their faces, she walked out, her head held high. Yet inside of the pockets of her trousers her hands were shaking.

_You're taking the easy way out._

* * *

Hermione disappeared beyond the door and Malfoy lunged forward, Harry's fingers tightening on his shoulder. "Don't."

Malfoy stared at him. "Are you mad?! You think we ought to stay here and do what? Clean?"

Not to stoop to his level he responded calmly, "I reckon that's exactly what we should do. Then we'll go home and wait."

"Wait? No wonder you haven't got a girlfriend, Potter. Hasn't anyone ever told you that women want to be chased?"

He bristled but kept his temper intact. He couldn't kill Malfoy if he expected a clear decision from Hermione (if there was a decision to be made). "Hermione's not most women," he pointed out waving his wand, the pane of the window flying into its places as good as new.

Harry felt Malfoy's eyes on his back as he worked on righting the couch. He took his time as the idea of going to an empty house was not the least bit appealing. Ginny wouldn't even be there eating his food or lounging in his chairs. It would be more than empty because he wouldn't know what to do without Hermione. It was an odd sense of helplessness. It was knowing that the answer was out there to his question, running away from him because he avoided it for so long. Years spent saving the world and he missed out on what had saved his. Right there the whole time.

It would have been the perfect time to arrest Malfoy, but he felt it was unnecessary. He would wait until Hermione returned and if she asked for him to pay for his crime, he would. Otherwise, he felt it was right for Malfoy to return to his home like Harry would return to his and know with absolute certainty that she wasn't there, and know that there wasn't a date on the calender or a quick magical fix. Malfoy would have to wait in his life for her to return, just like Harry.

The coffee table was set upright and the rain evaporated at the beck of Malfoy's wand. The lounge was clean, but to Harry, that wasn't good enough, and it didn't seem that it was to Malfoy either. Harry set about cleaning the kitchen when he heard the noises of a bathroom being scrubbed.

By noon, the house was as clean as it could ever be, and they had no choice but to depart.

* * *

By the time that Hermione entered the hotel, her hair was down, a curtain over her face. She pressed for the fifth floor and when she finally made it to Ginny's room she saw Ginny was there with her arms around her. Through their hair combined, bushy brown with streaks of sleek red, Hermione saw Ginny's suitcase was packed lying on the end of the bed.

Ginny guided her over and set her in a stiff chair, pushing a hot cup into her hands. Hermione smelled tea and gingerly sipped. The heat in her throat with the heat of the liquid made her choke. Whether it was on the tea or the tears still pouring profusely she wasn't sure.

"Drink up, Hermione. We don't know what the tea is going to be like in Brittany." She kneeled in front of her. "What did they say?"

The tea shook in her hands so badly that Ginny took it away. "Harry asked when I'd be back and Draco... Draco said - he said - I - I cheated on him." She looked at her friend, blurred and swimming in front of her. Lumps of nothing but sorrow. "I did. I did cheat. It's all my fault."

Embracing her and smoothing back her hair, Ginny said what she was supposed to say. "It gave him no right to poison you."

"Oh, I know that."

"France awaits."

With Ginny's hand in hers they stepped into the green fire careful not to misjudge the height and bump their heads on the mantle. The fire didn't hurt, it never did of course; it wasn't hot, but she swore she felt heat on her wet cheeks.

Ginny squeezed her hand, and shouted into the flames and they were swept away. Hermione wondered if she'd ever want to return again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Three weeks and two days. That was how long Draco had survived with the emptiness. That was how long since he woke smelling of Firewhiskey in shards of glass and salty rain. That was when Hermione had gone and had been too late to get her to return and he fully blamed Harry for it. If he had ran after her he was certain that he'd find some words to make her stay.

Despite his bitterness toward him, Draco felt a kinship with Harry in their alike miseries. Harry sure felt it for him, there was no other reason why the bloke hadn't arrested him yet.

Draco couldn't live in his Manor. He had walked in and was presented with darkness. Not only the literal sort of darkness but the darkness in when there was no one to greet you, your house-elf asleep. He left a note for Bandy, advised her to keep up with her chores and to take the weekends and afternoons off. The key he had planned to present to Hermione remained in Draco's pocket.

He spent a great deal of time at work, and he was more on top of his business than he had ever been - especially as Cook had kept it in great shape (not that Draco wouldn't have salvaged it). He slept in his office, and on his twelfth night there he ordered a decent camper. When he needed outside air he spent his time on a park bench in rain or shine for no other reason than to imagine for a sheer moment that Hermione was sitting beside him, commenting on the bird's songs and something she read about in a book. When he was hungry he ate at a bright muggle cafe like the one near the beach, except this one had gotten to know him by name. He sat in his usual round seat by the window as if he was hoping that Hermione would pass by.

The door chimed, Harry sitting across from him. Draco didn't take his eyes off the window but nodded in acknowledgment. When his cup of coffee and biscuit arrived he looked at his new mate.

Deep dark bags lined under his eyes. He looked like a mad potions master, and Draco smirked, "hey Frankenstein."

"Huh," Harry grunted, as if seeing him for the first time.

"Wasn't it Frankenstein with the mad hair?"

"His hair didn't move."

"Who had hair that didn't stop moving? Some potions master bloke."

Harry nodded in "ah." "The term is scientist, and he's the one that brought Frankenstein to life. Actually, the scientist name was Frankenstein. She told me." He didn't say Hermione's name, Draco noted as Harry ordered a coffee to the waitress, his knee jiggling annoyingly.

"Stop that. Think you've had enough coffee if you're moving like that?"

"I don't sleep."

"Must be good for the Ministry to have an Auror addicted to coffee."

Harry's eyes were a wild, hyper green. "I travel. I go nowhere. I sit on buses and trains and go nowhere." He slumped in his seat, a beaten man. He would snap, Draco was sure of it. With one finger he brought the plate of biscuits closer to him.

"What do you do," Harry asked.

"For what?"

"To pass the time? To stop..."

_To stop thinking of her_, he expected was the end of his sentence. Draco contemplated on answering. It was too close of a bond they were sharing, but maybe when Hermione came back and saw how well they were getting on, she'd see how much Draco had really changed. And Harry did look as though he wouldn't likely remember any of Draco's confessions. "I don't go home."

"Never?"

"I haven't stepped a foot in that house since I've been back here. I bought a camper for my office."

The waitress delivered Harry's coffee, and Draco laid down his muggle money. It looked like toy money for children and felt degrading to have in his pocket, but he thought that if Hermione was to be back and go anywhere it would be a cafe much like the one he was in.

"Hermione would've told me that. About Frankenstein's monster." He didn't know why he was saying it aloud, only that it crossed his mind to say it.

Harry smiled. "She would have told you the author was a woman."

He thought that was rather peculiar. "A woman writing a book about monsters?"

Harry nodded.

"Next thing you know they'll be writing about boy wizards." He shrugged, "why not write about them," he asked rhetorically, "women are the ones who make them. Men into monsters are their specialty."

Harry was no longer listening, staring outside of the very window Draco had stared out at. He could have been looking out for a number of reasons, most of them out of idleness, but he questioned briefly if he was looking out for the same reason Draco had.

* * *

Three weeks and two days. They were in Aberdeen, Scotland in a plain hotel, nothing like the posh one they stayed in in England, but they didn't have the need for room service and china, only the need for a place to shower and sleep before they were out again trying to forget.

They had been all over Great Britain, France, Germany, and had once somehow found themselves on the tip of North Island in New Zealand. They never stayed for more than a few days, and all the sights and sounds and tastes blended together in everything that wasn't home. If she had time to breathe she would have cried again. That was the plan for Ginny, though. To make sure Hermione didn't think about an incident that was tasteless and soundless and felt like a terrible hazy dream from many years past. Everything had that appearance to the point she wondered if she had always lived her life in a such a state. She needed sleep. Sleep where she knew that when she woke, she wouldn't have to go out.

That was why they were Aberdeen, Scotland. It wasn't a terribly exciting city. It was a rest-stop in the blurred amount of cities. It was quiet and Hermione appreciated that more than anything. For two days she stayed inside the tiny hotel room. It was painted a chipped white, the beds were flat and hard, and the blankets scratchy.

Unable to sleep anymore from a full day's rest, wide awake and mind buzzing, she set her wand to work to make it more livable. She changed the colors of the walls to a light green, and the blankets soft and plush again. Of course, they weren't really plush, it was a spell to make them feel that way. It was something Mrs. Weasley had taught her, a neat trick she learned in a book of Lockharts.

Ginny came in, the door squealing loudly. Hermione silently noted that it would need to be oiled as she beat the pillows into more desirable shapes. She heard Ginny sigh and the sound of sloshing and cans on wood had her attention. Ginny's arms had been laden with bags of food, and with her hands on her hips, Ginny shook her head.

"Hermione, we're on _vacation_, let the maid do that."

"I don't believe she does a fair job. I found dust on the frames." Around the room there were black and white photos of universities in Aberdeen, quite possibly because they were the only grand buildings it had to offer?

"There's a concert tonight, you should go."

Hermione twirled her wand between her fingertips and realized that it was what Harry did. She stopped. "We've been at it for weeks now. I'd like to rest."

"You're not resting, you're restless. Tuck in, we'll go out soon."

She stared out the grimy window. There was a thin line of blue sky and the rest was brick. There was nothing to stare at but she found herself staring all the same. She thought of the ocean and her vacation room. She thought of the memories in it that held Draco.

When those thoughts arose she joined Ginny at the tiny rickety plastic table set oddly in the middle of the room. Ginny threw the bag to the floor, set the small jug of juice in the center where Ginny was perfectly fine drinking it out of it with her, while Hermione kept stock of plastic cups. Between them were opened wrappers of sandwiches. While it would have looked good on any other day, right then, to Hermione it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted... Something.

Ginny rolled her eyes and stole her sandwich, snatching it from under her nose. "Leave," she said muffled, swallowing the food in her mouth. "Go. Take a walk. You're being bothersome."

"I'm not saying a word!"

She waved her hand toward the general direction of the door, not pressed to hear a word of Hermione's defense. "You're sullen and need some air."

"All I've had is air."

"Go to the bar, get a drink and put your head back on tomorrow."

Hermione huffed but was in little room to argue. She was being sullen and she did need to be by herself. She took her coat off of where it hung on the bedpost and warmed it by her body and left Ginny to eat the remainder of the food.

Night was falling, the indigo sky sprinkled with dusty stars, and Hermione had never felt more lonely than she did right then. She brushed the tears away and found a bar down the road. She could have kept walking, the cold breeze from the ocean a drive's away nipping at her nose, or she could let a drink warm her. Ginny must have known what she was talking about when she set Hermione off.

The door sent a welcomed warmth against her exposed skin but when the door had closed behind her, it was too hot. She shed off her coat and settled herself on a stool, holding up a finger the way Ginny had three weeks and three nights ago, but in a second thought, she said, "coco, please."

The thin man with tattoo sleeves behind the bar leaned over, a smile playing about his lips as he asked, "wha' ye say, miss?"

She smiled. "It's nippy."

The bartender nodded and with a hard expression set to work on her coco. While he rummaged and mumbled to himself she took a hard look around. The room was filled with couples or groups of men, and the music from the speakers was low and old. The whole atmosphere of casualty clashed terribly with the rough man pouring her drink and setting the mug in front of her.

"On the house," he told her.

"Thank you."

He nodded to someone over her shoulder to say that she ought to be thanking someone else. Hermione looked cautiously and saw a tan, sandy haired man in a black shirt with a logo of a band she did not recognize, and cut-off khaki shorts. He appeared to be a surfer of some sort.

"May I sit beside you," he asked, his accent distinctly American.

She nodded, taking him in. Hair in dreadlocks, no tattoos and piercings that she could see, no rank breath. He was as normal appearing as they came with eyes that were startling blue it took her breath away.

"Jude Knight." He introduced holding out a calloused hand.

She shook his quickly returning it to the hot surface of her drink. "Hermione Granger."

"What's your story, Hermione Granger?"

"I was on vacation with my boyfriend who attempted to poison me and I slept with my best friend and me and our best friend have been traveling country to country for the last few weeks." She clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing that it was her voice and her mouth moving to the confession. It was on her mind but she hadn't meant to say it.

Jude Knight smiled, a little shocked by the evidence of his wide eyes. "You must spend most of your time on the plane then."

She couldn't help it, she laughed but it was light and short. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Plan on staying in Scotland long enough for lunch tomorrow?"

Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she thought. She hadn't come any closer to a conclusion about Draco and Harry than she had to thinking about them longer than two breaths. There was nothing to lose. "That sounds lovely."

"In the future, you can handle your own drink."

She thought the man rather charming.

* * *

A/N: Jude Knight is not a character I made up (though his surname is, as his author did not provide him one). He is from a series **The Immortals** by **Alyson Noel**. It is an interesting series and I love this character dearly; I thought him and Hermione would be interesting. This was the perfect time to write these two.

This, however, is not listed as a crossover as obviously I only took him and not the whole series; this is about Hermione, not him.

Enjoy, everyone!


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Three Owls later, Draco decided to visit Harry's. He knocked. Once... Twice... Three... Four... He pounded his fist against the wood on the fifth try. He was reluctant to peek through the window. He liked to think that he would know if she was in England, but nonetheless the apprehension and thought he would catch her there in the same position (like she hadn't moved from that night) kept him rooted in spot.

Struggling for courage, he peered in. His heart stopped at seeing Harry on the couch, but relaxed when he saw that no one was with him. He was alone, splayed, his arm out of Draco's sight.

It was immoral but Draco was an immoral person and so with a tap of his wand he broke the lock, the gold knob dangling out of the wood. It was sad, he thought Harry would have more protection about his house than some muggle lock, but as soon as he thought that and welcomed himself in, there was Harry, pointing his wand at Draco's chest.

An old habit from the war, Draco gave him something only he would know. "Draco Malfoy, you fucked my girlfriend there on that couch."

Harry's eyes narrowed but lowered his wand. If it was possible he looked more worse for wear than when Draco last saw him in the cafe. He was scruffy with his hair longer, his face showing days worth of stubble. He had grown ten years within weeks.

"What're you doing here," he asked rudely, slumping back onto his couch, his hand rubbing over his brow.

"You didn't answer my Owls," he retorted. "I wasn't worried about you," he added, just in case he got the wrong idea. "You didn't show up at the cafe today, wanted to make sure there wasn't some Auror out there tracking me."

"Didn't get any Owls."

"Perhaps they thought you were dead," he suggested lightly. On the stained coffee table among stained mugs he spotted an open album. One photo in particular was setting out over the crease, one of Hermione and Harry alone, him and Hermione laughing so hard they were nearly bent in half. Draco had the urge to burn it, but he looked back to Harry who was slumped over the side of the arm rest, asleep.

"You need to get out of here, mate," he muttered. He slammed the album closed and slid it under the couch. Harry would likely tear apart the place to find it but at least it would be better than coffee, which was obviously out of his system.

The place was a mess. He could not tell if it was in due to Hermione being gone or that the bloke always lived in filth. The lounge and the kitchen especially smelled of coffee. Draco didn't dare venture father than those two rooms - which weren't actually two rooms as the only thing that kept them separate was the gray tile of the kitchen and the carpet of the lounge.

If he was a good person, he would clean it for him. However, he was only what he attempted to be, and that was a decent person. In that aspect he found Harry's speckled silver owl in the kitchen sitting on the faucet. He found a napkin and a pen and wrote a note to Bandy to take tomorrow off from the Manor to clean the following address he scribbled. He held it out worryingly.

"You're not gonna bite me, are you?"

The owl hooted impatiently and Draco let it take the folded napkin in its beak, and he flapped outside of the open window. He liked that owl better than Hermione's as he had let Draco retained all of his fingers in mint shape.

He threw down the dreaded pen, and stared at it. Hermione had taught him how to use it in their early days of dating. It took a lot to use it. What self-respecting wizard would not use a quill? And what self-respecting wizard would do chores by hand the way Hermione sometimes did? Always, she did the dishes the muggle way, and with time, he saw what she liked about it, the way she bit her lip in thought. It was her own time, her childhood she revealed in.

He could understand, he had his own sweet memories of his childhood. He was perhaps, too spoiled, but he was loved. Dearly loved as an only child, and that was what him and Hermione had in common.

Harry remained draped over the edge of the couch, the tips of his fingers grazing the floor, his right hand curled around his wand, the most pathetic sight Draco had ever seen. He didn't know what to do, so he took a drink out of the fridge, hidden in the back, a bottle of Brandy and slouched in a chair, popping the cork out.

"Cheers." He tipped it up and let the numbness begin.

* * *

_"Is that you, Potter," Hermione sneered. Out of her hand shined a light, she spotlighted it in his eyes. "Tell me the truth! Did you poison me?"_

_ "No," he yelled. "It was Malfoy! Malfoy poisoned you!"_

_ "I don't believe you. You had it planned. It's all your fault!"_

_ "Hermione, no!"_

_ Green light flashed not once, but twice. Malfoy and Hermione stood over him; they grinned at his crooked glasses and blank green eyes as their guilty wands dangled from their hold._

Dawn stretched itself across Harry's face. He batted it away like a fly but with no success. It took moments of evading sleep that he realized the lack of logic in that. He sat up, tasting a stale film of coffee in his mouth. He craned his sore neck, the tendons bunched and screaming. He stopped in the midst of his bone cracking to stare around. There was something different. Something had changed, something had happened last night, but what?

Over his torso was a blanket he had been sure was in the cupboard. Draco laid sprawled in a chair, a bottle of Brandy Seamus gave as a homecoming gift empty in his lap. His mouth was open, but he did not snore which Harry was thankful for out of the thanklessness he was feeling at his presence.

That was the least of the odd things Harry was seeing, though. His house was clean. Spotless. The kitchen looked like Aunt Petunia's, and he was quite positive that Draco - no matter how besotted - would clean his house. The only ones who did were Ginny and Mrs. Weasley who were told plainly that they shouldn't bother, but they paid no mind to him. _"I will not have you living like a gnome_," Mrs. Weasley said indignantly. Harry suspected she was making up for his whole lifetime of mothering. It wasn't needed as he was an adult of his own accord long ago.

Draco jolted awake as if from a nightmare, the bottle dropping from his legs and onto the floor where it rolled to Harry's foot.

"Good sleep," Harry asked.

"Your chair is no good."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Was Mrs. Weasley here?"

Draco opened his eyes a crack. "Why would the mother hen of weasels be here?"

He closed his grip around his wand but attempted to ignore the comment. "My house... Someone cleaned it."

"Bandy."

"What are you going on about," he impatiently asked.

"My house-elf." Draco was just as impatient, grunting and sitting up straighter. "I asked her to clean. You live as if you have no money and I cannot associate with that sort."

"My house is clean, Draco, don't let your inflated head explode."

"Where's the coffee?"

"Kitchen. Top shelf in the pantry. Help yourself."

"No word from Hermione?"

Harry shook his head.

"Coffee it is then."


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Hermione stood precociously on the tub, her hands on the tiled wall observing herself in the mirror. The mirror was dim with age and had spots even Mrs. Weasley's spells could not diminish, but it would have to do.

Her expression wore unease and uncertainty. It was wrong that she was wearing such a similar dress as to what she was going to wear to Draco's that awful night she caught him and that woman. She did her best to alter the scarlet fabric to a more silky variety, to add a dash of color on the sleeves and neckline, a bright silver.

Carefully Hermione stepped down and Ginny stepped in. "You look beautiful," Ginny told her, picking up a small brush and swiping her cheeks with a light pink.

"Am I doing the right thing? Having lunch with Jude?"

Ginny placed the brush down, perplexed. "You do what you have to. If you go home with him, I promise I won't say a word. You're not _with_ Harry or Malfoy."

"I will most certainly not go home with him!"

She held up her hands in mock defense. "I'm saying that you are free to do what you please, Hermione."

"It's not right," she worried, wringing her hands.

Ginny held her shoulders, peering closely at her face. "Don't string this muggle along. It's been three weeks, you must be close to some decision now." Her eyebrows were pulled together, as if trying to sort out a puzzle, and then she walked out.

Hermione felt it was a lot to ask of someone. She never quite got the handle of having fun and being serious. They were two separate goals in her mind. She ran her fingers through her hair, and as her eyes met hers in the mirror, her fingers met a small tangle, and she recognized the gesture as Draco's, when he was anxious, and she let her hands drop.

Her hair had gotten longer, inches below her shoulders and the sun had kissed it lighter and her skin darker. She thought of Draco, how he never tanned, his skin always the ghostly appearance. One night, when he had stood under her window inspecting the threatening clouds, she thought he looked like an angel. With the pale complexion, eyes and hair; she dared anyone to disagree.

The door outside of hers creaked and she heard a mumble of voices, then louder, "Hermione, Jude's here."

She took a gust of air, and exited the bathroom with her best grace.

* * *

"Your life is boring," Draco told Harry when he came in from work. Draco could have sworn the man hadn't moved at all from when he had left him that morning.

"When are you going to stop kipping out here," Harry asked in response, not looking up from the pile of folders on the floor. Some were black and white photos of glaring men in Azkaban uniforms. Papers on top of papers of past and current crimes and detailed descriptions of the victims and criminals and alibis and things that made Draco's head hurt.

"The spare bed is a lot better than my camper."

"That's Teddy's bed," he informed him.

"Teddy?"

Harry looked up, waited a moment for it to dawn on Draco, for which it didn't, and said, "Your second cousin. Teddy Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks' son."

In Draco's family, the rules were quite simple. Being in any other house but Slytherin was a disappointment, but not being behind the Dark Lord qualified for banishment. Anyhow, he had never heard of the kid named Teddy and only vaguely of Teddy's mother. To be quite honest, he didn't even remember her name.

The memory was fresh, he remembered hearing his mother cry as he passed her room that night on May 3rd. It had been a long day and Draco felt jumpy and so hearing his mother crying he flew into the room, wand raised, but all he saw was her sitting crumpled on the floor. Her hair wasn't as sleek as he had always seen it, it was frumpy and limp, her head was down, and tears streaked her makeup. He knelt beside her and for the first time in his life she fell into his arms bawling. He saw over her shoulder by the heel of her shoe an old black and white photo of three girls. He recognized the tallest as his Aunt Bellatrix, and the one beside her as his mother, but the smaller one was one he could not recall.

It was only then standing in Harry's lounge that he assumed that the mystery girl must have been Teddy's mother. He should have felt some sadness for the boy who was his blood, but he didn't feel anything.

"Make yourself useful and get the door," Harry ordered him.

He didn't like being told what to do but seeing as he was in Auror mode he did as he said, saying as he went, "there's no one at the door."

"Neville's coming up the walk."

Sure enough, Draco opened the door and there stood Longbottom. The clumsy idiotic boy had grown and into someone that Draco would have never intimidated without Crabbe and Goyle. White scars littered his face and he was a good head taller.

"Malfoy," Longbottom came up short. Seeing Harry behind him, he was roughly shoved out of the way. "You alright there, Harry?"

"Fine, Neville." He nodded to him, shuffling his photos and papers together and stuffing them into his briefcase. "It's a long story. Do you need something?"

Longbottom gave long curious gazes out of the corner of his eye to Draco. "Gin wasn't home, I thought she'd be here."

"What do you want with that lunatic," Draco smiled. The bruise was gone but his ego had healing to do.

"She's my girlfriend," he snapped, "ex-girlfriend, really, well -" He faced Harry, "what is Malfoy doing here?"

"Didn't she tell you," Harry asked. "She and Hermione left."

"Where have they got to?"

Draco laughed. The idea of Ginny and the bumbling hiccup from Hogwarts was right laughable and so he was in his rights to do just that. He leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed and observed the two old friends. "Short story? Hermione screws Harry and runs off with your girlfriend. Quite the romance, eh?"

"_Really_, Harry, what's Malfoy doing here?!"

"It is a long story."

"Firewhisky then?" Draco clapped. "Brilliant."

* * *

Jude smiled kindly at her from across their table outside of the restaurant, the waiter pouring them each a glass of wine. "This isn't my sort of place, but for a first date..."

"It's lovely. Thank you."

He held up his glass, the waiter walking away. "To new beginnings."

She raised hers up to his, but hesitated. New beginnings. With who? Ginny had gotten to her; Harry and Draco interrupted her mind over and over. The two of them as she last saw them standing in the lounge of her vacation home among the broken shards looking hurt. She left them just like that.

"Hermione?"

Shaking her head, she came to, and clinked her glass against his, taking a long sip. Taking notice of the lights that were beginning to turn on in late evening's light, the table cloth brushing against her knees, the way her date fiddled with the length of the sleeves of his coat.

Leaning forward she gave him her full attention. She wouldn't be distracted again. Jude didn't poison her. He hadn't lied by omission. He was there with her and it appeared to her that he liked her. He had done nothing wrong.

"I am sorry, Jude. It's been a long few weeks."

"Exhaustion does become you with all the flying you do. Why is that? Why do you fly?"

"Flying away is the more appropriate term..."

"Ah, the boyfriend. Are all your boyfriends like that?"

She chuckled, "oh no. Lets not discuss that... What do you do?"

"Studying architecture and art at Uni."

Hermione was already fascinated. At least, she tried to be. Only if she could get Harry and Draco out of her head.

"Hey," he said, chucking his napkin onto his empty plate. "Wanna get out of here? You look uncomfortable."

"Do I?" She sat back in her seat.

Jude stood and offered his hand. "I spotted a place to get hotdogs. Lets get some American food into you and see what happens."

She looked blankly up at him.

"I can tell this isn't your kind of place. It isn't mine either, but you were pretty and I wanted to impress you." He smiled. "Come."

She placed her hand in his.

* * *

While Draco topped off Neville's glass, Neville laughed, "blimey! That's a story!"

Draco sat a ways away from Neville, not warmed up to him yet, but he didn't mind sharing the bottle placed in the middle of their circle and that was more than Harry could ask for. He had just spent the last ten minutes regaling him with the whole sordid tale and it was Neville's turn.

"Why are you looking for Gin? I thought you two were great. Going on vacation or something." Harry busied himself with the lace of his shoe, twisting it around his finger. He didn't know why he put them on that morning. He hadn't left the house all day, calling in sick to work. He did feel sick, but who wouldn't when Draco Malfoy was moving himself in? He _should_ have arrested him.

"We were," Neville agreed. "But this student I have. He's a right monster! Should be locked up! I can't do nothing with him, no amount of disciplining will work. Ginny was upset with me for spending so much time in detention. She said we ought to see other people. I shouldn't have agreed?" It was a real question. Neville wasn't sure.

Draco shook his head, swallowing quickly, breathing out a hot breath of alcohol and Harry took the bottle from him. "Women never want you to agree when they say something like that."

"I changed my mind. I followed her but she wasn't there. Reckon she was out with a friend. It's been weeks and the boy's been expelled. She's not here?"

"Sorry, mate," Harry said, holding the bottle out for Neville when the door swung open and a long curse was let out.

"What in the bloody hell is this?" Ron was in the entrance, his hand out from pressing the door open. By his side was Luna, cocking her head so her blond tresses resembled a wavy curtain. She smiled serenely in only the way Luna could and said in the airy way she had about her, "having a drinking party?"

Draco snatched the bottle back, swayed a tad and offered it up to them. "Welcome to the ex's anonymous. Take a drink and forget your troubles - meaning forget your witches!"

Luna reached to inspect the bottle but Ron seized it before her, slamming it down on the fireplace mantle with a crack. "Harry, what is this?"

"What is he, your boyfriend." Draco rolled his eyes. "He sounds like a girl that found you cheating. Ah, you should know all about that, eh, Harry?"

Harry motioned for them to sit in their depressing circle. "When did you get back, Luna?"

Ron, whose mouth was gaping like a fish out of water, his ears as red as his hair, didn't move to sit, but Luna did, moving out her brightly red and yellow foreign skirt around her.

"Three days ago," Ron answered for her. Harry didn't want to know what they were doing those three days. "Came by to ask if you wanted a pint but obviously you already had two," he said bitterly.

Luna ignored Ron. "Nantucket was lovely, and there were these little bugs that crawled over peculiar flowers. You should go, Harry."

Unlike Nantucket and bugs on flowers, it interested Harry in how Ron and Luna worked. Ron had a distaste for her when they first met but by all accounts they were all curious about Luna when they first met her. Ron, however, grew to love her fast, her and her odd ways. Even if he made a joke she didn't understand, even when she talked about things that were beyond his imagination, they worked. He thought perhaps it was Luna's unique charm that Ron couldn't resist because no matter what, he looked at her with the same glimmer that made Harry uncomfortable.

Neville, his forearms on his knees, said, "let me sum it up. These two are barmy over Hermione and she left with my girlfriend when they had a row and now the witches are Merlin-knows-where."

Ron's eyebrows disappeared into his hair and he sat down between Luna and Neville. He kept a close watch on Draco who smirked at him, pleased with the reaction. "You don't know where Hermione and my sister are?"

"They didn't tell us where they went," Harry replied.

"Did you ask mum?"

Harry felt stupid. He never thought of asking Mrs. Weasley. She kept track on each of her children, and if she hadn't heard from Ginny there was no doubt that she would Owl everyone to investigate her disappearance. Given that Harry's bird had been quiet in regards to her letters, then she knew where she was, and she knew where Hermione was. "No... We didn't."

Draco gleamed, sitting fully up, "that's your department," he pointed at him and Ron. "You two can ask her and we can go get her."

It apparently hadn't slipped his mind that it was Mrs. Weasley that killed his aunt, but Harry shook his head, his hand out to stop Draco from getting excitable. "Hermione said she'd contact us."

Frustrated, he sighed. "Do you always listen to what she says?"

"Yes," both Harry, Ron and Neville said immediately without a second's thought.

Draco wide eyed, guffawed.

Luna busied herself with scrutinizing a piece of lint she found on her sleeve.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Blue jewels complied the antique butterfly clip that Hermione snapped into her hair sweeping it away from her face. Over her stomach she smoothed her blouse and tugged the hem over the waistband of her jeans. When she glimpsed up there was Ginny's disapproving face.

"You're going out with him again."

"I can't very well stay around here moping all day, can I?"

"It would do you well if you made a choice." Ginny's tone was biting and Hermione wheeled to face her. She thought Ginny was having fun, it never occurred to her that the trip was now tiring.

"Come out with it then."

"Harry is like a brother to me. You can't treat him this way. He deserves to know."

"I know that, Ginny. I'm doing my best here!"

Ginny exhaled, as if she had been running herself in circles. "I know what you're doing. But you can't stay here. You can't avoid them forever. Sooner or later you'll have to go back to England and tell them." Quieter, she asked, "do you know yet?"

The night pressed in through the window. Hermione passed it and felt herself at one with it. In the daytime there were thoughts she could escape from. There was the feel of Jude's hand and the way he smelled of the sea. New surprises she learned every day about him, like how he loved to ski, particularly at the same lodge her and her family visited years ago.

When it was night, all she could think of was the sound of the shower when Draco was in there and the way it smelled of his soap afterward. The way he crawled in after her in bed, his arm over her waist, his fingers playing at the band of her knickers.

It was Harry's smile and his hand that she took so many times in her youth. It was watching his countless chess matches with Ron, and his briefcase bumping his leg as he walked into work. It was his arms that she felt safe in.

She always caught Jude between classes, delivering cups of coffee. They always ate an early dinner, but never did she agree to see him at night, and he had asked, more than once. She preferred their walks, their vanilla coffee and talking of his classes and her family, and the little things they loved, shared or not.

She felt hopeless as she descended into the bed, her head low. "How can I love someone who poisoned me?" Her voice cracked with unshed tears.

"Love is when someone can do terrible things to you, but you still love them."

"I'm not crazy?"

"Oh, you're crazy alright." Ginny gave her a smile and sat next to her, taking her hand. "So am I. I love a man I never see. I ditched Neville, you know."

Hermione gazed at her. "You did what?"

"We both kept schedules that kept us from seeing each other. I knew that when that student served his final detention we'd see more of each other but... I was afraid until then he'd stop loving me."

Hermione's heart reached out to her friend. "I know Neville and I know he couldn't stop loving you if he tried. He adores you, Ginny."

"They adore you too, Hermione. We've all made mistakes we're not proud of. I think Malfoy's paid his. I saw the look on his face when you cried. He'd throw himself off London Bridge Tower if he thought it would make you happy. Do not get me wrong, I'd kill him, but I'm waiting for you to turn him in."

"Thank you, Ginny. Tomorrow, we'll go back to London and I'll talk to them both."

"Do you know..." Ginny trailed off hopefully.

"They should know first."

Disappointed she pouted, but didn't argue. Hermione stood, "so should Jude."

"I'll pack." Ginny peered at the suitcases sitting in the corner of the room regretfully. "Have nothing better to do."

Out in the reception area, which was exactly where their room opened up to, Jude waited.

The heels Hermione borrowed from Ginny clicked on the chipped floor. It echoed in the room, and the burly man behind the reception desk looked up from his magazine to stare too long at her behind.

Hermione kissed Jude's cheek. Without further ado, he walked with her outside as if he couldn't get further from the hotel quicker. At the end of the block, he said, "hi," and kissed her cheek, and brought out a red scarf with blue dots from his back pocket.

"What is this," she asked.

"A surprise. Do you trust me?"

Hermione's wand was tied securely around her leg under her dress. She never went anywhere without it. It was the only way Hermione and Ginny were going to stay in such deprived hotels without men escorting them.

"Yes," she answered him.

He moved behind her, tying the scarf around her eyes. "Best you don't see which direction we're headed." She heard a car door clicking open. With one hand on her shoulder, the other on her head, he cautiously lowered her inside. The seat belt moved across her, pressing against her breasts.

The door slammed shut, her jumping at the sound in her ear.

* * *

Four weeks. Four long weeks and Hermione still hadn't returned. In a bed shaped like a boat, his head propped up on a pillow in designs of dragons, Draco stared out the window, at the star littered sky. It was late. Was it day wherever she was at? Was she on the other side of the world? Was she thinking of him at all?

He refused to entertain the notion that she was thinking of Harry. No, she should be thinking of him, Draco, not of the other git whom he would have to go back to hating if Hermione chose him.

If he could do it all over again, he would have told Hermione he'd give her a sliver of his memory of that night. He would have given her anything - anything if she'd stay. He would have given her anything anyway. Why hadn't he thought of that before? Surely someone had a pensive they could use. All of the best ideas escaped him until it was too late to do anything. Only this time, this crucial mistake may have cost him Hermione.

Draco's legs hung off the stupid boat, his bare feet flat on the rug underneath. It was loads more comfortable than the camper he had but much less than his bed. He couldn't roll over and his back and neck strained to stay in one place. While he dozed here and there, he was frustrated at trying and he rolled out.

The hallway was blacker than the night outside. The end was brighter than the sun. With his hand in front of his face he walked into the lounge. He stopped before banging his smaller toe on a loose brick in the fireplace again. The night before he had done that and let out loud curses that woke Harry and had him covered in boils. It was a painful lesson in not waking anyone who you fought in a war.

When he's eyes adjusted he saw Harry supine on the couch, folders spilling off his stomach onto the floor. His hair covered his eyes, his mug half-full next to his slung hand.

The sight of him got more and more pathetic and Draco, for the first time wondered what Harry would be like if Hermione did choose Draco. It wasn't that he was caring, it was a thought. If Harry could barely survive without her, what would he be like if she was with him?

It was unwanted and Draco felt sick with the tiniest bit of worry. He had honestly spent too much time in the damned house with him. Yet, it wasn't enough of a reason to go to a darker and more depressing house.

He peeked into the kitchen and saw the top of Bandy's bald head bobbing over the table. He hissed at her, and she jumped.

"Master Malfoy," she squeaked and hushed, "Bandy was cleaning, sir."

"I'm going out for a bit." He hesitated. "Cover up Harry, alright?"

"Bandy will do that, sir."

"Get to bed early. You must be tired."

"Bandy thanks sir." And she bowed deeply.

Draco's hand on his coat, he caught a glimpse of himself in the window. His hair, too, was longer, bags were under his eyes, and he was thinner. For weeks he thought Harry had looked bad, but he didn't realize, he looked as bad as Harry.

If Harry or Weasel didn't go to speak to the head Weasel, he would. He had no choice, because if Hermione didn't come back soon, she and the guilt they set on themselves would be the death of them.

* * *

Wave and wave crashed on each other, they flexed over the sand reaching further and further before they pulled back. They were forgiving and extending and torturous when need be. They let the sun warm them and allowed the night to chill them. They gave nightmares and dreams, and sailors hearts to weep.

"You talked about the beach. I love it. I surf every day. Out there looking for the biggest wave."

"I love it," she said. "It's beautiful here." The sand was darker from where they stood on the cliff, miles from the curve of the road he drove them on. It looked nothing like the beach she owned but it reminded her of it. It reminded of her of Draco swinging her round and round.

Jude bent, his face close to hers. "You're thinking of him again."

Gaze to gaze, she nodded. She didn't mean to put Jude through it. He had done nothing, he was a kind man. Her thoughts were always muddled at night. It was broken clips and scenes of two men who loved her too much. It had been four weeks, and she was being fair to no one. For all she knew, they could have moved on and she was being a right fool holding on for dear life. But that was what they were. She spent much of her years protecting Harry that he became such an important part of her life that it blurred until she was there traveling with him on the search for Horcruxes. It was him, she would give her life for year after year. And her life... Her life was growing with Draco. He was the change she wanted to see in the world, and somehow, he made her feel that change, feel the good that he swore she brought out.

Jude captured her chin between his forefinger and thumb, tilting her face gently upward. She knew what was going to happen, but she allowed it, hoping it would be better than countless places and countless days.

"May I help you forget?" His mouth touched hers.

Like lightening it was light, a flash of clarity. Behind her lids played the only scene she ever needed to see, to ever know.

Against his lips, Hermione whispered, "I'm so sorry, Jude."

He winced as if she had struck him. "I understand."

"You do?"

"I loved a girl once. It's hard still, getting her out of my system. That's why I left California. It was... Too painful."

"May I ask what happened?"

"She loved someone else. A good man. Better than me. I never thought he was, he put her life in danger. She went with him anyway. He didn't mean to put her in danger, he was being selfish. He wanted her in any way he could have her. The love isn't healthy and isn't right, but... I guess if you're as crazy as the person you love, if they are willing to do anything to protect you, make you happy, then it's worth everything."

"You're beautiful, Jude."

He scanned her. "You're ready to go home? Do you want a drive?"

She shook her head. "I'll stay here a little while longer. I'll find my way home."

"May I ask how," he was honestly inquiring.

Hermione was a dreadful liar, but she had hoped all the time she spent with Ginny and Draco she would have picked up on some talent for telling falsehoods and tinier versions of bland-somewhat-truths. "I have my ways." It seemed like a Ginny thing to say.

He smirked, and it reminded her too much of Draco, and she set her eyes on the ocean.

As he turned, she found that his playful smirk was gone, and he was frowning. He walked slowly back to his car, slower than he normally walked, and she wondered if it was because he thought she would change her mind. It mattered not. She gave the ocean her front and watched the waves, hearing the wheels of his car crunching pebbles and dirt as he drove away.

Hermione did the right thing and she would continue on that path by talking to both of the boys. It wouldn't be easy. She loved both Harry and Draco but there was no longer a question in her mind who it was, had always had been. Right at the start, it was meant to be him, and that was the strongest sentiment she could give anyone, for she didn't believe in the nonsense of stars and destiny. What she did believe in, was _him._ Always him.

_ Wave after wave. Never quite the same. Forever changing._

_ Wave after wave. Drowning sorrows and pleas._

_ Wave after wave. Calling her home._

* * *

__A/N: I know some of you are getting anxious for Hermione to return to them. It'll happen very soon!


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Hermione apparated to a questionable alleyway, and hurried out of it and into the hotel without delay. The echo doubled the sound of her heels and the snores from the man behind the desk. She swiped her card through and shut the door on his snores, but it was only muffled.

What struck her as odd was the light was on. She spotted Ginny on the bed, sleeping soundly, and there were sounds coming from the bathroom. Running water, and the sound of the thin and rough tissues being pulled out of their holder. She raised her wand, backing toward the bed, her heart in her throat. Whoever it was was taking their time. She gave Ginny a glance, but she was under the covers and looked alright, her back was moving up with a breath.

The bathroom opened up as the light inside went off, and Hermione readied herself, a curse in mind. Then, out into the light of the room stepped Ron Weasley.

Hermione let out the breath she was holding but did not lower her wand. "Ronald!"

"Hey, Hermione."

"Hey? What are you doing here?!"

"Oh, erm... You make a disgusting mushroom soup," he offered to show that it was not an imposter, but Hermione was not pleased by what he chose to tell as proof.

She lowered her wand although she thought better of it. "We were in the forest and we were hungry. Would you have rather I fed you grass?"

He laughed and gave her a one-armed hug. "What are you doing in Aberdeen?"

Lightly, she blushed.

"I know about Harry and Malfoy."

There didn't seem to be anything more to say. She moved to the bed where the suitcases laid packed on her side. She laid them down on the floor. "Why are you here, Ron? How did you know where we were?"

"Mum told me. Came here to fetch you."

"Is Mrs. Weasley worried?"

"Mum worries all the time," he replied simply. "Harry... He misses you."

"I miss him too."

Ron's ears were the shade of ripe tomatoes. She believed he had never been more uneasy with any situation as he was then, talking to him about her love life. It was a general topic that Ron steered clear of. That was how she knew it was of some importance to him, that he was bringing it up at all.

"How much?"

"What do you mean," she asked.

"How much do you miss him? As much as he's missing you?" Suddenly there was an edge to his voice, and she must have misread him. He wasn't just uneasy, he was angry.

"Ron, get on with it, what is it that you came here to say?" She remembered to keep her voice low, Ginny was still asleep.

"He looks like death, Hermione - that's what I'm going on about. You did this - you did this to him. I want to know why. Tell me why, Hermione! Why -"

"Because I love him!" She inhaled a sharp breath. "I love him, Ron, but it isn't as simple -"

"Simple?! Go back and look at him. Fix him!" His fists balled, his knuckles white. "He's my best friend -"

"He's my friend, too -"

"You stayed with him when I left, how could you leave him now? He needs you, Hermione, more than anyone." He looked away. "More than me."

Ginny stirred, the blankets harshly scratching against each other. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "What is this noise? Ron? What in Merlin's pants are you doing here?"

Ron rounded on her. "Get dressed. We're going home."

"You could've waited another day, we were going home anyway." Ginny stretched, keeping the blanket over her torso. "Don't give her hell. She's been through enough. We all have."

"You haven't seen Harry -"

"And you haven't been here! Oh, for goodness sakes Ron, leave! I'm barely dressed and I need sleep. I'll see you tomorrow. We'll get lunch."

Ron glowered at Hermione, waiting for her to say something, but Hermione didn't know what to say. She wracked her brain for something, forced her mouth to move. "I'm sorry, Ron. You have to leave. I'll see Harry tomorrow. I'll settle all of this."

There really was nothing for Ron to say. Awkwardly he went to the fireplace, and stopped, mouth open as if to say something more. He decided against it and ducked into the crumbling fireplace, calling out the address of his house, the flames engulfing him.

Ginny groaned, falling back and flinging the blanket over her face. Hermione thought she heard her say, "stupid brothers."

Slowly, Hermione took off the heels and slid off her dress. In a second thought she placed a chair in front of the hearth. At least when Ron entered again she would wake to the racket he'd cause.

* * *

By the dying light outside Harry was reading a suspect list. He dipped the quill into the ink, scratching out names, making notes by others. Bandy worked around him as she always did, waving her arms to clear dust and cobwebs Harry didn't know existed. He didn't take his eyes off the list, focusing on each name, committing it to memory and making notes for them to be cross-examined.

It was the only way to forget that Hermione was out of reach for moments of time. He immersed himself in the contrasting shiny black lines on the yellow parchment. It shouldn't have been that hard but he suppose it shouldn't have been too surprising. For ten years he hadn't gone without contact from Hermione for long. She was always near for advice, for when he didn't want to spend an hour researching a fact in a book. He never realized how he had taken her for granted. He silently swore he wouldn't do it again.

Right on time, Draco arrived, a gust of cooling wind breezing by. In his usual routine he hung up his coat and went to the kitchen. The fridge suctioned open, and then closed with a clatter. "There's nothing to drink."

Draco woke before the sun to go to work. Harry suspected he was sleeping less than him, and he took the opportunity before work to clean out the alcohol. Draco was drinking too much. He'd drink and fall asleep and it was the only time he would sleep the whole night through. Draco didn't know, but Harry heard him roaming at night, sometimes going out, but to where Harry didn't know or wanted to know.

Bringing a thick air of bad attitude with him, Draco slumped into the chair. He brought out his wand, tapping it against his knee, bright red sparks emitting from it. Then, with a swish, a gust of wind flew the papers up and around the lounge, gliding slowly to the ground, back and forth like a lost ship. Harry stood, thinking of bringing out his own wand to hex him with.

"Draco!"

"I'm bored," Draco whined.

Harry pointed to the tele, bothered by him and his presence. It was long time since Draco went home, but he hadn't yet gathered the courage to kick him out. He found that although Draco was possibly the worst roommate in history, Harry did like the company, even if it felt like a ghost in the house at times. "Play with that," Harry told him. "Turn it on and watch."

Draco looked at the tele funny, his head to the side, but he got to his feet and strode to it. Harry busied himself with helping Bandy picking up the papers. He would have to sort through them later and if that didn't worsen his bad temper then finding the ink smudged over the names of suspects making them unreadable did. Company or not, Draco was over-welcoming his stay.

At that last thought there was bang, just the sound someone would make if they were hitting the side of a tele, a curse following when the old thing wasn't producing a proper picture but the sound next was unusual, it was an explosion that sent Harry ducking and covering his head. Bandy squealed loudly and had _popped_ out of the room, disapparating.

Through the smoke and the tears it caused he saw Draco calmly stroll to the chair. The television was blown to bits, pieces about the floor, wires poking up and sparking, the glass screen jagged, cutting off the reflection at Harry's shins.

"That was my tele."

Draco was finally entertained. "I blew apart that black box, not your -"

"My television, Draco! You turn a knob and you can watch there on the screen."

"I don't follow," he said.

At the strongest impulse Harry pointed his wand at him and Draco did the same. If Harry sent the first hex, it would be a duel and those were illegal. Hermione's bright idea to urge the idea along with a friendly colleague of hers in another department. Harry lowered his wand at the thought of her and what she would say if she could see them.

Bandy _popped_ back in as Draco placed his wand in his back pocket. She looked around the room, at the loose bits of parchment, the destroyed tele. She set to work squeaking, "Bandy will fix! Bandy will fix!"

Harry took a deep breath, in and out. "You turn the knob to the right to the left. The knob next to that you turn to the left for volume."

"Sounds barking."

"She never taught you?"

"I blew hers up too. Told me not to touch muggle things."

Harry laughed. "There's one at a pub I know. Don't explode theirs, it's muggle."

"A muggle pub?"

"Yeah. It's rather good."

They gathered their coats and left Bandy to the work, hearing her whistle softly to herself as she did.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Harry couldn't believe it. He was banging on his own bathroom door. His fist raised for the tenth time, he yelled into the crack that had the scent of _his_ shampoo and _his_ soap. "Draco, get out of there, it's my turn!" His fist collided, the door jangling in its lock.

Dudley, Harry's cousin, never felt like a brother to him. There were never any brotherly fights over the bathroom. Dudley simply used him as a punching bag - and in the spirit of that, when he wanted the bathroom, Dudley simply shoved him out of the way. It was not as though Harry could put up much of a fight, Dudley was ten times his weight by the time they were nine.

Therefore, Harry had never had to argue over bathroom usage. He never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would be doing so with Draco Malfoy.

"Keep your trousers on," Draco yelled back.

There was not enough bravery in the world that would make Harry blast through while Draco was taking a shower. The most he could do was bang and yell and so he did. "It's _my _bathroom! This is _my _house! You are _not _moving in!"

It was muffled, but Harry swore he heard, "I'd never move into a house with one bloody bathroom."

Harry banged again, and Draco sung _"and every line in your palm, we're fools to make war. On our brothers in arms."_

Harry pounded once more. "And stop watching tele!" It was in his fourth year in Hogwarts, but he was pretty sure that the singing egg hadn't sounded half as bad as Draco in his bathroom which he realized then had too much acoustics.

_"These mist covered mountains are a home now for me. But my home is the lowlands and always will be. Some day you'll return to me. Your valleys and your farms and you'll no longer buuRRNN!"_

Harry rapidly backed away from the door as if it had scalded him. The water shut off and Draco came bounding out, a white towel around his waist, his face more furious than when Harry had talked badly about his mother.

"What did you do that for?!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"I did."

Harry and Draco turned, seeing Hermione at the end of the hallway. Harry felt his heart crash against his ribcage and stop. She was there, tanner than he had last seen her. Her hair seemed lighter too. From the outside he would say that she had a grand time without them, and he felt angry at that, but he hadn't found his voice to say it.

"He has a horrid singing voice, doesn't he," she asked awkwardly of Harry.

He could only nod his agreement although he didn't know what he was agreeing to. At that point, he'd agree with anything as long as she kept stepping closer like she was.

"You do look dreadful, Harry. Ron told me, but I thought... Well... You know how Ron is." She looked to Draco. "You don't look good either."

Draco was the quickest on his feet. "You came back here to tell us that we don't look good? Says something about your tastes, Hermione, if I do say so myself."

"I didn't mean to be gone so long."

Harry had found his voice. "Are you staying?"

"I'm staying."

"For how long," Draco asked clearly wanting a time and date, an expiration of how long she would be there in front of them.

"For good."

At that Draco picked her up around her waist, swinging her around. Harry felt like he should have done something to stop it. It should have been him holding her like that, but he couldn't seem to move, and his jaw was glued shut again. He was acutely aware of his uncut hair, the softness of what was once stubble on his cheeks, and how he had worn the same clothes for three days. He probably smelled but it was Draco's fault because he would have looked more presentable if he had a shower.

Hermione's feet finally met the floor and to his relief she backed out of his bare arms. He looked hurt but Harry felt something inside of him roar with pleasure.

* * *

Draco in a large white towel knotted at his thin waist, hair dripping rivers over his brow and off the tip of his nose; Harry, greasy and disheveled as though he hadn't taken a bath in days. They were arguing when she came in. She had been standing at the end of the hall for a whole minute, unnoticed. When she heard Draco sing, she knew what she had to do, and that was to cut off the hot water line.

"I... I didn't intend on talking to you both together..." It was the most awkward of situations. She had a speech prepared for each of them in turn, but they were together and the speech simply wasn't appropriate for an audience. "Is there something I should know," she questioned, her eye on the half-naked man as she gingerly pulled the wetness from her top away from her skin.

"Save us the trouble, Hermione," Draco said impatiently, "and tell us who you are choosing."

She glared at him. "Well, that's just it. I'm not choosing."

"I won't allow you to date both of us."

"Who says it's only between you two," she asked heatedly.

"Four weeks," Harry muttered to Draco and it dawned on him, "are you seeing someone else?!"

Hermione blushed but shook her head no. It was the honest truth. "As it so happens, I want to be by myself for a while."

"What has the last four weeks been?!"

"Draco, please... I... I had to make sure you two were alright."

"Does it look like we're alright? I'm in a towel in Harry's house, and Harry - well - look at him!" He pointed a finger at the wizard next to him and Harry looked offended.

It was the wrong thing to be pleased with at that moment, but it pleased her all the same. "You called him Harry."

Harry spoke, softer and rougher than she had heard him before. "There are some things you can't go through without end up liking each other. Drunk in your vacation home is two."

"What is the first?"

"Beating up a mountain troll."

Hermione's eyes watered at that memory. She would have never made it to the end of term without Harry and Ron. If they hadn't found her, heard her in the girls bathroom with the troll, she would most certainly be dead. It was because of them she was alive. She never forgot it.

"Give me time to settle myself in. I'm sure my house is a disaster -"

"No it's not," Draco interrupted. "Had Bandy keep it up on the weekends for you."

"Is that why Harry's house is clean?"

Draco laughed and nodded. "Brothers in arms."

Harry rolled his eyes.

Hermione felt as though she missed something crucial. Something between them and something she couldn't get back. Time... Time with them. They had grown closer and while she was happily surprised, she was jealous too. She lowered her face, hoping it would not show. "I must go anyhow. I will talk to you very soon." She backed out and away.

* * *

Draco felt Harry's eyes on him, but his eyes were on Hermione's back, her tresses long, almost to her waist, her coat cinched in her middle. He watched until she vanished from the corner. There was the sound of crackling fire and then he knew she was gone.

She had looked beautiful. He had forgotten how so but her hair had turned a lighter brown, her skin sun kissed. It was unexpected as he had thought she'd retain her same near-prison-pallor from losing herself in books. Then he reminded himself she had left with Ginny, and Ginny was not known in Hogwarts for being in the library. It disquieted his heart but only a bit.

He returned Harry's inquisitive stare. "What?"

"Not going after her?"

"I'm in a towel, mate. I have pride."

"In that case," Harry made a move to the bathroom, and Draco cursed his head start, his cheating. It was cheating. No one could deny it.

The door slammed in his face. "You cheated, Harry!" He slammed his hand against it once, and went to his borrowed room to change.

Bandy had packed his school trunk with many of his clothes, the smell or whatever Bandy used with them that reminded him of home. That was the difference between house-elves in the days before the Dark Lord's downfall and house-elves after Hermione changed the laws. While once they would not dare do something out of line - even if considerate, Bandy felt free enough to think of his wishes. She took care of him.

Draco, however, knew that when Hermione came home he would go home as well. Looking inside of his trunk, the clothes of predominately black, he thought perhaps it wasn't the thing to do. The Manor was huge and lonely and he felt dread at the thought of speaking to her again.

Harry had said something about beating up a mountain troll. It meant something to them. Whatever that was, Draco didn't want to know. What he did know was that if Hermione had a choice between a childhood friend and the man who poisoned her, she would choose Harry. It was him that she followed into darkness, not Draco. Draco was never an option.

When the war ended Harry exempted Draco from Azkaban. It wasn't lawfully right as Draco had committed many crimes and had been an accomplice to more than his share. Still, for switching sides at the very end, Draco did not have to serve a sentence at all, only attend a hearing. Then all was pardon because Harry said so.

That must have been part of what was wrong with him. Draco had rarely ever had to pay for his crimes, and that had to stop if he wanted as someone as good as Hermione. He knew it.

He thought of nothing than wanting to have kissed her in that moment. He should have as it may have been his last chance.

The shower turned off. He didn't know how much noise those things made until it was in a tiny house.

Moments later, with Draco leaning against the wall outside of the bathroom door, he waited for Harry to dress. When he came out, Draco balanced from the balls of his feet to his soles.

"Arrest me."

A boggy towel up to his hair, stopped. "Um..."

"I poisoned Granger. Do your job."

Harry sighed, dropping his gray towel. "She hasn't said she -"

"Doesn't matter." He knew what he was going to say, that she hadn't made her choice yet, that it could still be him. He didn't need Harry to play the good guy. "I committed a crime. I won't have you excuse me again. It's time I paid for something."

"You know I don't have the authority to release you -"

"I understand the consequences of what I'm doing."

Without another word on the subject Harry, who looked pained, took Draco's hands, wrenching them to his back, and with a tap from his wand were secured there. Harry placed a hand on his shoulder. "This might not win her back."

"It's not about her," he lied. Partially lied, that was. It was always partially about Hermione. Everything in his life was partially about her; for her attention and forgiveness. The other part, it was for him too. Paying not only for the crimes he had committed solely, but for his family, for generations that devalued ones like the girl he loved.

There wasn't dread or any tightening in his chest the way he thought it would be when he turned himself in. There was merely the relief of years of waiting. Waiting for something that was due to him that no one could take.

Draco settled with himself that he wouldn't see her for a long time. That she would be with Harry. That it would have to be okay because she deserved happiness, and he thought that his real punishment. Not seeing the curve of her side, her lip between her teeth, the feel of her skin against his, the scent of her coconut shampoo and how she fit right into him, her body designed for him. That would be more punishment than a cell and a price he would pay if it meant doing something right for once in his life.

It was funny. He always said he would be thrown in Azkaban because of her. Although, when he said that in their younger days, he meant because he would murder her. He never thought it would be to save her.

* * *

A/N: The song featured here is called "Brother in Arms" by Dire Straits.


	20. Chapter 20

Note To All Dramione Shippers: Due to cute angry people I will direct you to chapter twenty-three for you to continue this story to your warm Dramione shipper hearts.

**Chapter Twenty**

It was cold. It went straight through his skin to his bones. The bars the window held were no protection to the wind, and it was set high in the circular stone room. Dementors no longer inhabited the island, but there didn't need to be Dementors for it to be freezing, to face your nightmares, and to remember the sorriest times of your life. It was done automatically. The difference was that Draco could relive the good times, and he did, often.

One night, long ago in Draco's bed, half awake he rolled over to her. It had been sometime since they had fallen asleep given that the room had progressed to a much darker dark. It was fully night, and the blanket spilled around her waist, leaving her back bare. It reminded him of what they had just done, and he kissed her shoulder blade, his palm flat on her upper arm. With one finger he traced down her spine, enjoying watching the shiver that convulsed her skin.

One day, on the couch Hermione was reading. Draco was beside her, drawing up a new design for a broom. He added note after note beside the handle until he heard a page turn, looked up, and wasn't able to concentrate anymore on his parchment. Her hair was gathered to the side of her shoulder so he had full view of her lip-biting. Lightly he brushed the feather of his quill across her jawline passing close by the lobe of her ear, and down her neck, traveling over her collarbone.

_"Draco, I'm trying to concentrate," she giggled._

He trailed kisses after the feather, chasing it right down to the top of her breasts when he leaned up and captured her lips. Their work had shifted to the floor, out of their mind.

There was a morning in which he took his shower and she came barging in, forgetting an earring or other such babble. He watched her shadow on the other side of the curtain, bending to look on the floor by the toilet, under the basin. When she drew closer he flung the curtains aside and grabbed her, pulling her under the sprinkle of water. She squealed becoming soaked, her clothes molding to her true shape. She cursed him, his name, his habits and everything that was ever Draco, and he kissed her heatedly, full on her mouth, pressing her flush against the wall, pinning her hands above her head. She responded with such enthusiasm that they both spent the rest of the day enjoying each other.

He had liked to think that no one else knew that side of Hermione. Then again, there were four weeks unaccounted for. There was Harry.

For all he knew, he didn't know Hermione at all. And that bothered him almost as much as the sight of her betrayal.

That was where he didn't understand himself. After what he saw, he should have hated her. He felt like he did for the rest of that night. He thought phrases that he would never tell her, but he was confident she would recognize every one of them, for he had thought them ages past, when he had truly, deep down, hated her.

However, when day came he was loving her once more, when he had calmed and spotted her toothbrush in his bathroom. It was part of her left behind, a reminder that there were better times, that she had been all of his.

He had never been more of a fool than he had been with her.

Drawing back to reality, Draco found himself staring out the only window he had, to ignore the cold stones surrounding him. He thought of his family and how thwarted they would feel. They took alleviation in being set free of their crimes - especially his father who had served an interrupted sentence before.

It was a first: Draco did not feel one bit like a Malfoy. Falling in love with a muggle-born and turning himself into Azkaban deserved to have his noble blood drained. His family would do it, free of charge.

It rained, bits of it hitting his face as the fierce wind kicked up, whistling through the cracks of the wall. It reminded him he had no bed and he was alone on a stone floor; almost more sore, more miserable than his heart. It was the perfect way to forgive himself; if only Hermione forgave him first.

* * *

It was evidently a quick note. Ginny's message was written and scrawled sideways, and there were blots of ink dotted randomly around it.

_Hermione,_

_ Neville and I are back on! Handle yourself with them without me._

_Ginny_

It would have been easy without Ginny as she could postpone another couple of days without her badgering, but that was not fair. It was a phrase the red-head liked to use. "It's not fair." "You're not being fair." She had never thought of herself as an unfair person but in Ginny's company she felt unjust and less like the lawyer she was.

Two days were more than enough time. It was past due. She had been looking forward to scrubbing her whole house down, but as it had it Draco was truthful and Bandy did clean it for her. There was not a spot to be found. For that she left a moderate sum on the side of the fireplace with the house-elf's name attached on a ripped parchment. It was something to show her appreciation but she would have to talk to Draco about giving her her weekends back - even if he was paying her. That poor elf ran herself ragged.

First, Hermione would have to speak with Harry. There was the pleasure in the knowledge of the comfort she would receive from her best friend that she would not get from Draco.

She held the Floo Powder in her hand, trickles of it slipping out of the cracks of her fingers. Like sand. Her time had run out. When had the crimes against her became a punishment for her to clean up? Love, it ruined everything.

Throwing the powder in and like seeds green flames sprouted and licked her shoes. She ducked in calling out Harry's address and tightly shut her eyes, bright lights exploding in her lids as she swirled, dirt, grime, and soot around her carefully held breath. It was done many times and her foot was out automatically knowing its own way to Harry's house, at which precise grate to get off.

"Harry?"

He came from the hall, and stopped, his eyes set on her. He was drinking her in, as if she would disappear. Hermione acknowledged then how badly she must have hurt him, particularly seeing the great difference in that he was shaven, his clothes ironed and his hair was cut to its usual muss and out of his eyes. Harry had lost many people in his life and he didn't deserve to have anyone abandon him. He learned his lesson thrice fold, and more than that, she missed him insanely, and she could no longer bear to be mad at him.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Brilliant," he responded, amending quickly in his own awkward way, "because I feel the same way."

She ran at him, her arms around his neck embracing him tightly. Without pause he wrapped his around her waist and held on. Strands of his hair tickled her nose, and she buried it in his neck, inhaling the scent of him, a scent that was of coffee and wood. It was home.

Harry held her close exhaling a sense of relief, his lips finding the spot where her neck met her shoulder, pressing them there. Tears sprung in her eyes, stinging her with overwhelming happiness.

"Hermione," he mumbled and pulled back only enough to look in her face. There was regret and hurt in the crinkles sprouting from his eyes. She touched them as he spoke. "Draco's in Azkaban. He asked me to arrest him."

"Why," she asked, her hands falling. "I wasn't going to place charges, Harry, I - I should, but..." She didn't know of a way to explain that particular insanity. Draco had become a friend of Harry's, she could see that and she could see how Draco was sorry. Draco, despite it all, was important to her.

"I reckon you should talk to him."

"I will," she promised, touching his hands and wrists and arms. Actions that she desperately wanted to perform before, but fear and confusion kept her too long. It was cruel of her, to deny what they both needed. If she had been honest with herself, she would have came to terms that it was him all along. It had always been Harry.

Harry steadied her and moved to back out of her arms, but she grabbed his waist, keeping him there with her. "In the morning," she told him. "I'll tell him first thing in the morning, but tonight, I'm staying with you."

There would never be enough time to make up for all of their mistakes. She was elated and she could not bear to face Draco. Harry and her had years to make up for, years where they could have realized what they had been missing. They should have known it when the war was over - or perhaps before the war. They should have seen all the signs. It was always meant to be them.

Slowly, Harry traced his thumb over her cheekbone, his fingers moving into her hair. Just as slowly, he pulled her toward him, his lips falling on hers.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The clouds were silver gray, the same color as Draco's eyes. They were Azkaban's overcast. On the tiny island where sea wind blew like a creature of its own, there was no sunshine. Somehow, she could easily see how the gloom could be Draco's home.

With her hair pinned in a low bun, the hood of her billowing cloak low over her head, she walked off the boat and onto the island of Azkaban. The sea was geared by the wind and the sea rocked the boat and she felt sick, her cheeks tinged with green. Even the steady land felt as though it was moving. The large pebbles underfoot that set her balance more off kilter didn't help

"Ms. Granger?" A stocky man with a cut lip approached her. He wore a heavy-duty black cloak with the stitching of his station. He was the head guard of the prison. "I'm Mr. Spence. I was told that you'd be here by Mr. Harry Potter," he explained.

"Yes, I'm here to see Mr. Draco Malfoy."

He walked ahead, past the clusters towers that shielded them from the harsh sea winds. He took her to the only rectangle building there was. It set low and dull and somehow more forbidding than the towers that held the prisoners. One of those prisons that held Draco.

Mr. Spence held the door open for her and she stepped into the oddly stifling room that looked much smaller than it appeared on the outside. Half of the room was divided by bars with no door. On the other side there were a line of guards, their wands at their side. Mr. Spence motioned with a nod to the bars as he stayed by the door, his short wand out as well, arms cross, tapping it against his elbow in boredom.

She pulled her hood down, waiting away from the bars. None of the guards wore an expression and none of them would meet her eye. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and she wondered if she had done the right thing. Harry said that Draco may not have wanted to see her.

Last night with Harry had been the best nights in her life. It was a new start for them; they could begin their lives together right. Only, there was talking with Draco, and that was what caused the weight of her heart that day. Even through the eggs and bacon that Harry cooked for her when they woke didn't have the same flavor. Harry held her hand, feeling the hills of her knuckles, silently assuring her that all would be okay. He was right, it would, because they were together.

The door behind the bars clanged open. In came Draco in a black suit, a band on his wrist to prevent his use of magic. He looked sick and cold, bags under his eyes, his skin placid.

They took gradual steps to the bars, in an almost shy manner. As if they didn't know where to start... Hermione didn't have the words to say what she felt, because what she felt was garbled in confusion. Where they started to the end of their path together. This was a goodbye, and how did one say goodbye? With a kiss? A hug? There was no way to keep yourself intact.

"You're worth paying the price, Hermione," Draco said simply.

It was important, more important than ever that he knew. "I wouldn't have charged you -"

"I know."

She inhaled shakily. Her whole body trembled. "I'll put in a favor -"

"No." He met her eyes, his stormy grays and her melting brown. "I have to do this. I can't hurt you and the world for what I want." He gripped the bars, resting his forehead against it. "I poisoned you. You could've died. I'm selfish and reckless - always have been." He breathed slowly, "he loves you. He's waited years for you and didn't even know it."

There was not a proper response to that. She thought the same of herself, that there was a part that waited for Harry or waited for a time when they could start. There were the problems of the worlds upon their shoulders. It may have been the right time, but all she cared about was that they got through alive. Together.

"I forgive you," she said.

"I know that, too," he responded, pulling her by the front of her robes to the bars, and lightly touched her lips with his. They were hardly met, the bars in their way, pressing into her hips and her shoulders.

They parted, Hermione touching her lips in thought. It was their last kiss. How did one process that? She was aching, it stealing all the things she wanted to tell him.

* * *

"Two minutes," one of the guards called out to the walls.

The bars were cursed to keep her apart. He wanted to feel her fully against him, he wanted all of her, at least one more time. There was no way he could be with her, her last encounter with Harry, his last act of almost murdering her.

Suddenly he couldn't look into her watery eyes, to see the damage he stored there to slowly kill the only person he could love so completely. There was not enough good in him to replace the hurt. He was destroyed. He was nothing, and she was everything.

"Draco?" The tips of her fingers grazed the stubble on his cheek. Her dewy palms held the sides of his face as he had held hers. "Look at me, please, Draco."

He did. He cried as she wrapped her arms so tightly around him he felt that he would never breathe again.

_I forgive you. _Who knew that three words could be the end of someone? That was what it felt like, to feel the weight of remorse like a giant on your chest, to have someone give their last strength to save you, and tell you that it was okay to not be scared anymore. It was too much, and he feared he would bruise her hands. Could she feel it? The tremble that went through his body?

"I love you," he breathed.

"Time's up!"

"Take Bandy home with you," he told her in a hurry. "She doesn't have anyone else. Take care of her."

She nodded.

"Ten seconds to leave," the guard bellowed.

It would be five years. Five whole years until he would see her face again. It didn't matter. Hermione had already moved on, he knew, because her hair had the scent of Harry's shampoo.

He exited out the door, not looking back although, like a fire, he could feel her gaze on his back. Outside he was escorted to his tower. Nothing felt real, not the frigid air and the pebbles under his bare feet. There was no color, not in the skies or in the sea. He was surrounded by dreary gray.

The clanging of his iron tower door shattered him to his knees. He kept the happiness in his head, the real feel of Hermione's hands and how her hair - despite being clipped up was still wild and beautiful; how the curve of her lips enticed his.

Those thoughts weren't strong enough to stop the thought of who she would see soon. The idea of Harry by her, smiling, touching her, and how easily it happened before. It was bound to happen again and Draco could never stop it. A force beyond his control.

He was going to go slowly insane, he was sure. His mistakes and the knowledge that he would be nowhere when he returned to the Wizarding world sent him into despair.

To nothing and no one that could possibly hear him, a message that would never get through, he pleaded, "take care of her, Harry."

* * *

Hermione leaned over the side of the boat, her hands gripping the slick railing, her feet shoulders-width apart to keep her balance, her hood whipped off her head and flying behind her. She did not bother to keep it on or control the strands of her hair that escaped her clip. They whipped about her face, a few stuck to her wet cheeks.

In an hour she would be Floo'ing home. The idea of the warm flames she would be encountering should have been calming her, but she was like the unsettling sea in the currents of winds they were in. She was leaving without Draco. Somehow she didn't think of having to leave without him and how much it would hurt. It was constricting, like being in a confined space, unable to stretch out.

The sea and its spikes rolled her stomach but icy sprays kept her focused on reality and helped keep her emotions.

"Take care of him, God."


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

The table was set when Hermione woke, Harry setting a glass of orange juice in front of her.

"Harry, it isn't necessary to cook for me every morning. I can cook, you know."

Harry sat across from her. "Are you saying your cooking is better than mine?"

Her cheeks heated, and she laughed. "No, not at all. Yours is much better."

He nudged the folded Daily Prophet and The Sun toward her. "Read it earlier."

Opening the muggle paper first, she began reading, taking small bites of food. Yes, Harry's cooking was better than Hermione's. Then again, she had a bad reputation when she had to cook for Harry and Ron during the Horcrux hunt. It wasn't her fault; there wasn't a lot of edible ingredients to be found.

"I was thinking," Harry started, "of you moving in."

Hermione peered over the paper at him. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." He stilled, waiting for her answer.

It was only logical that she did move in. Hermione had taken to living there for three weeks. She barely went home. He bought her her own wardrobe.

She looked about the house. It was lovely and entirely Harry. There was the album Hagrid gave him on the coffee table, there were his Holyhead Harpies mugs that he got free from Ginny, and without having to see it she knew there was a pile of dirty laundry in the bathroom. There was the couch where they...

"What do you think of buying our own place?"

Harry looked around, as if trying to see what she saw. "Our place. Okay."

She smiled, but as she was about to take another bite, her fork hung near her mouth. Her eyes re-read the paragraph, but it wasn't a mistake. "Harry," she said, "they're closing Brookstone Museum."

"What's that?"

"A museum that my parents took me to. They're closing it." She smoothed the paper on the table, feeling the still photograph of the building. She remembered all the times that her parents watched her as she read every plaque, and roamed through the books in the gift shop. She had gone to every new exhibit and delighted in the rush of new information.

Harry's hand encased hers, a sly smile on his face. "Lets buy it."

For a moment she thought he had gone mad. "Buy it? Harry -"

"We have the money. You've always said you wanted a bookshop."

"I don't have time for a bookshop. I have a law career."

"Is that making you happy," Harry asked incredulously. "Because you come home cranky every night. You said the only reason you went into law was to set new new ones. You've done that. You've done more than that. You fought in the war, you made things fair. It's time you did something for yourself."

"You're right," she said. Indeed, he was right about it being time to move on, but he was wrong about her being cranky. She wasn't cranky, she was sad. Every new case reminded her how the world had so much improving to do. She did what she wanted and she was now in a state of defending inane quarrels. She was tired. "You're right, Harry."

"That never gets old."

In a month's time (with help from a bit of magic), Hermione and Harry bought the museum. They enlisted Ron, Luna, George, Angelina, Neville and Ginny to help. She each gave them jobs for the day to complete, and attempted to set them in pairs - specifically not with their significant other. She would not have activity going on while there was so much to be done. The place was in much need of repair work, it needed to be cleaned, the staircase was wobbly, the roof was leaky, the plumbing was weak. There were hundreds of projects to be done.

Hermione was never more grateful to be a witch, to use her magic to speed up the process, to make it more of a home. The other's didn't share the enthusiasm, however. They groaned as she "bossed" them around. That was Ron's wording, of course.

On the very top floor was their space. She stood on a brown plush rug in her living room enjoying the feel of her new home, the stone fireplace, a burgundy bowl on top full of Floo Powder. There was her couch across from the television, tall bookcases surrounding her. There was the kitchen in front of her, the white tiled gleaming brilliantly.

There was a room that belonged to Teddy, a study, and of course, her and Harry's room. A double bed was set beneath a stained glass window illuminating purple and green on the white comforter. There were two tall bookcases on either side, and hanging from the high rafters were tiny balls of light that George placed, emitting the scent of lavender. The room was set in its ethereal ambiance of peace.

There were soft footsteps and she turned seeing Ginny. "This is lovely," she said taking in her surroundings, smiling at the balls of light above them. "George," she asked of the lights, smiling. "I had him put some in my room. It smells like roses."

"It's nice that he doesn't give us something from his joke shop all the time."

"Nothing wrong with that," Ginny smiled playfully, most likely recalling last Christmas when she had received his gift of his and his late brother's Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. She had used it that night before George and Ron set off red and green fireworks in the living room. Mrs. Weasley had quite the nervous breakdown and Mr. Weasley made them swear they would not do it again.

* * *

By magic Harry and George moved cases of books up the stairs to the second floor. They passed Luna telling Neville stories of her travels, and he was listening closely. Harry suspected that if Ron hadn't told Neville of his liking of Luna, Neville would have gone for her. Harry didn't know how he felt about that on Ginny's behalf, and he gave it no more thought.

"How mad would Hermione be if we dropped this down the stairs?"

"Are you kidding," Harry asked, careful with the steps on the stairs. "Hermione nearly hexed Ron for playing with a rusty sword."

He guffawed, "thought she'd behead him with it."

Into one of the many large rooms in the building they set the books down in a corner.

"Do you think she's barking for doing this," George asked.

Harry smiled, "yes."

Harry knew exactly why Hermione became a lawyer. He remembered her huff of indignation when a Minister had mistaken her goals in life. Hermione only wanted to do good, and to do what she wanted she had to become a lawyer. It was a logical and heartfelt choice. The bookstore she was beginning, that was purely heartfelt, and Harry admired her for doing it.

"You ought to be pleased."

He turned. "What?"

George nodded. "You have everything you want. You got the girl. You bested Malfoy once and for all."

He shrugged, "I just wanted her."

Placing the books on the shelves without order (he'd be the next to be beheaded by Hermione), he changed the subject, to which Harry was grateful.

"What are you going to get her for Christmas?" He looked disdainfully at the leather bound story in his hands. "A _book_?"

He laughed, plopping down next to him. "I was thinking of cashing in a favor from the Ministry. Getting Draco out of there."

"Wow, Harry. Give me cash this year, won't you?"

"Hermione will appreciate it. I reckon Draco will, too. He won't admit it, of course."

"That takes guts."

"I think he's learned a lesson, and if he hasn't, I'll put him in there for good."

"No, I meant let the ferret loose when there's so many of us that are after his blood. He'd be safer in Azkaban."

"Hermione's forgiven him."

"Look, mate, I know the poisoning was an accident, but the potion _wasn't._ He messed with her free will, her _mind._ He didn't deserve her."

Harry nodded, but he disagreed on one facet. Draco did deserve her. He put himself in Azkaban as atonement, but it wasn't enough to put aside what Harry and Hermione had built on for a decade. He loved Hermione and he nearly missed out. In an odd way, he had Draco to thank for them being together. That was truly way he was putting in that favor. That, and he honestly didn't know what to get Hermione. Not unless the ring in his pocket counted.

Behind them, Hermione poked her head in. "Dinner's ready."

* * *

A/N: If you're disappointed about who Hermione ended up with, let me say that this was not the original ending, but I simply couldn't bring myself to be comfortable with it. I tried and I failed. Lets face it, I share the same views as George here. On the bright side, Draco learned an important lesson!

However, for all of those who want to read her with Draco, I will post the original chapters in one long form (it will be long, because it goes back to chapter twenty to twenty-six).

Yet, does Draco get his happy ending _here_? It does not come up, I'll tell you that I clearly imagine Draco selling his mansion to Nott and living simply. At the coffee shop where he and Harry frequented he meets a striking muggle girl, bubbly and sweet and lifts his spirits off the ground. Happy ending!

Thank all of you! I love you.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty**

It was cold. It went straight through his skin to his bones. The bars the window held were no protection to the wind, and it was set high in the circular stone room. Dementors no longer inhabited the island, but there didn't need to be Dementors for it to be freezing, to face your nightmares, and to remember the sorriest times of your life. It was done automatically. The difference was that Draco could relive the good times, and he did, often.

One night, long ago in Draco's bed, he rolled over to her. It had been sometime since they had fallen asleep given that the room had progressed to a much darker dark. It was fully night, and the blanket spilled about her waist, leaving her back bare. It reminded him of what they had just done, and he kissed her shoulder blade, his palm flat on her upper arm. With one finger he traced down her spine, enjoying watching the shiver that convulsed her skin.

One day, on the couch Hermione was reading. Draco was beside her, drawing up a new design for a broom. He added note after note beside the handle, heard a page turn, looked up, and wasn't able to concentrate anymore on his parchment. Her hair was gathered to the side of her shoulder so he had full view of her lip-biting. Lightly he brushed the feather of his quill across her jawline passing close by the lobe of her ear, and down her neck, traveling over her collarbone.

_"Draco, I'm trying to concentrate," she giggled._

He trailed kisses after the feather, chasing it right down to the top of her breasts when he leaned up and captured her lips. Their work had shifted to the floor, out of their mind.

There was a morning in which he took his shower and she came barging in, forgetting an earring or other such babble. He watched her shadow on the other side of the curtain, bending to look on the floor under the basin. When she drew closer he flung the curtains aside and grabbed her, pulling her under the sprinkle of water. She squealed becoming soaked, her clothes molding to her true shape. She cursed him, his name, his habits and everything that was ever Draco, and he kissed her heatedly, full on her mouth, pressing her flush against the wall, pinning her hands above her head. She responded with such enthusiasm that they both spent the rest of the day enjoying each other.

He had liked to think that no one else knew that side of Hermione. Then again, there were four weeks unaccounted for. There was Harry.

For all he knew, he didn't know Hermione at all. And that bothered him almost as much as the sight of her betrayal.

That was where he didn't understand himself. After what he saw, he should have hated her. He felt like he did for the rest of that night when he caught her. He thought phrases that he would never tell her, but he was confident she would recognize every one of them, for he had thought them ages past, when he had truly, deep down, hated her.

However, when day came he was loving her once more, when he had calmed and spotted her toothbrush in his bathroom. He was angry and worst of all he was hurt, but there was not a way he could stop loving Hermione.

He stared out the window to ignore the cold stones surrounding him. He thought of his family and how thwarted they would feel. They took alleviation in being set free of their crimes - especially his father who had served an interrupted sentence before.

It was a first. Draco did not feel one bit like a Malfoy. Falling in love with a muggle-born and turning himself into Azkaban deserved to have his noble blood drained. His family would do it, free of charge.

It rained, bits of it hitting his face as the fierce wind kicked up, whistling through the cracks of the wall. It reminded him he had no bed and he was alone on a stone floor; almost more sore, more miserable than his heart. It was the perfect way to forgive himself; if only Hermione forgave him first.

* * *

It was evidently a quick note. Ginny's message was written and scrawled sideways, and there were blots of ink dotted randomly around it.

_Hermione,_

_ Neville and I are back on! Handle yourself with them without me._

_Ginny_

It would have been easy without Ginny as she could postpone another couple of days without her badgering, but that was not fair. It was a phrase the red-head liked to use. "You're not being fair." She had never thought of herself as an unfair person but in Ginny's company she felt unjust and less like the lawyer she was.

Two days were more than enough time. It was past due. She had been looking forward to scrubbing her whole house down, but as it had it Draco was truthful and Bandy did clean it for her. There was not a spot to be found. For that Hermione left a moderate sum on the side of the fireplace with the house-elf's name attached on a ripped parchment. It was something to show her appreciation but she would have to talk to Draco about giving her her weekends back - even if he was paying her. That poor elf ran herself ragged.

She held the Floo Powder in her hand, trickles of it slipping out of the cracks of her fingers. Like sand. Her time had run out. When had the crimes against her became a punishment for her to clean up? Love, it ruined everything.

Throwing the powder in and like seeds green flames sprouted and licked her shoes. She ducked in calling out Harry's address and tightly shut her eyes, bright lights exploding in her lids as she swirled, dirt, grime, and soot around her carefully held breath. It was done many times and her foot was out automatically knowing its own way to Harry's house, at which precise grate to get off.

Dusting off her shoulders she looked around the empty room. "Harry?"

He came from the hall, and stopped, his eyes set on her. He was drinking her in, as if she would disappear. Hermione acknowledged then how badly she must have hurt him, particularly seeing the great difference in that he was shaven, his clothes ironed and his hair was cut to its usual muss and out of his eyes. Harry had lost many people in his life and he didn't deserve to have anyone abandon him. He learned his lesson thrice fold, and more than that, she missed him insanely, and she could no longer bear to be mad at him.

"I love you," she whispered.

"Brilliant," he said, amending quickly in his own awkward way, "because I feel the same way."

She ran at him, her arms around his neck embracing him tightly. Without pause he wrapped his around her waist and held on. Strands of his hair tickled her nose, and she buried it in his neck, inhaling the scent of him, a scent that was of coffee but of something else she could never place, but it was lovely, it was like home.

"Hermione," he pulled back only enough to look in her face. "Draco's in Azkaban. He asked me to arrest him."

Her limbs fell over Harry's, as if she lost the bones in them. She felt nothing and everything, the controlled calm and turmoil in her body at the thought of Draco in those tower-like cells and why - why he would ever ask for it.

"Why," she asked. "I wasn't going to place charges, Harry, I - I should, but..." _I love him, too_, she thought silently.

"I reckon you should talk to him." Harry backed out of her arms and she wanted nothing more than to hold on. She didn't understand the defeat, how he was letting her go. It wasn't time, there was more to say.

"Harry, I don't understand. I thought you..."

"I'm lonely," he explained simply. "I felt alone. Everyone paired up and I'm getting older with no one. I'm sorry. All of this is my fault."

"It's mine, too What we did, it was a mistake. It was not us." She touched the back of his hand. "Can I hug you?"

He nodded, and she fell into his arms. She did not really want to go. It was not the fear of going to Azkaban or the dread of speaking with Draco. It was leaving him. While Harry had most certainly been the most dangerous friend to have in school, he was her best friend. She could not bear to be without him. Maybe she loved him in that way, the way a tree loved what its roots held. After countless near-death-experiences, they couldn't do without each other, and as easily as they could fall madly in love, it was simply too late and they ruined it beyond measure.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. For everything."

"The fault was mostly Draco's," he said, his mouth close to her ear, making her laugh until they were both laughing, shaking against each other.

Hermione pressed her lips to his cheek and released herself from him and spinning to the fireplace quickly. "I'll go and talk with him."

"I don't think he'll want that," Harry said uncertainly. "Not in Azkaban."

She found herself smiling, "he poisoned me. I don't care what he wants."

Harry smiled too. "Go easy on him, Hermione. Honestly, I would've killed him myself for what he did... But I'm an Auror, and a profiler, and he does love you, and he does do stupid things when he loves. If anyone could sort him out, it's you."

"You like him, don't you?

"Only cause you do."

She knew that was a lie, but for his kindness, she didn't point it out. She instead, rooted herself inside the hearth, reeling in the fire as she called out for the Azkaban prison.

* * *

On Harry's shoulder, against the white fabric of his T-shirt was a smudge of soot. There were specks of it all over his front. He wouldn't change it.

In the kitchen he took the last bit of Firewhiskey that Draco surprisingly left and settled his hip against the counter where he tipped it into his mouth. It would be his last time. He would never drink again, but he owed it to himself, because although he didn't lie to Hermione, he didn't tell her the truth either. That night was what she'd think as a product of his loneliness and while she would be right - as Hermione tended to always be, it was also because he loved her. He never imagined for a moment in his life that he could love someone as much as he did her. That was why he would never tell her.

Harry saw it in her eyes, the spark of worry when he told her that Draco was in Azkaban. She loved him, and there was no control for that. He knew, he tried.

There was a not a shred of evidence that supported there was such a thing as destiny, and he knew Draco after having forcefully living with him for over a month; he knew that if Draco needed anyone in his life it was her. Harry could assuage his loneliness and he could heal as he had always done, but Draco would never heal. Hermione would be Harry's friend and it was enough, but Draco would fall apart at what he had done to drive her away.

Harry drunk the last drops and pitched it into the rubbish bin, where the trash already in softened its blow.

The taste of bitterness stayed on his tongue and outside the window white flakes flitted past.

Winter was threatening an early arrival and there was nothing else to warm him.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The clouds were silver gray, the same color as Draco's eyes. They were Azkaban's overcast. On the tiny island where sea wind blew like a creature of its own, there was no sunshine. Somehow, she could easily see how the gloom could be Draco's home.

With her hair pinned in a low bun, the hood of her billowing cloak low over her head, she walked off the boat and onto the island of Azkaban. The sea was geared by the wind and the sea rocked the boat and she felt sick, her cheeks tinged with green. Even the steady land felt as though it was moving. The large pebbles underfoot that set her balance more off kilter didn't help

"Ms. Granger?" A stocky man with a cut lip approached her. He wore a heavy-duty black cloak with the stitching of his station. He was the head guard of the prison. "I'm Mr. Spence. I was told that you'd be here by Mr. Potter," he explained.

"Yes, I'm here to see Mr. Draco Malfoy."

He walked ahead, past the clusters towers that shielded them from the harsh sea winds. He took her to the only rectangle building there was. It set low and dull and somehow more forbidding than the towers that held the prisoners. One of those prisoners that held Draco.

Mr. Spence held the door open for her and she stepped into the oddly stifling room that looked much smaller than it appeared on the outside. Half of the room was divided by bars with no door. On the other side there were a line of guards, their wands at their side. Mr. Spence motioned with a nod to the bars as he stayed by the door, his short wand out as well, arms cross, tapping it against his elbow in boredom.

She pulled her hood down, waiting away from the bars. None of the guards wore an expression and none of them would meet her eye. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and she wondered if she had done the right thing. Harry said that Draco may not have wanted to see her.

When she had changed her mind, her body positioned toward the door was when the other behind the bars opened. In came Draco in a black suit, a band on his wrist to prevent his use of magic but that wasn't where her eyes stayed, it was his face, lit like a thousand suns at the sight of her.

All was forgotten. She ran to him, her arms through the bars, barely fitting, but he was there too, his arms clutching hers. Their noses grazed, and a tear fell from her eye.

"Why, Draco?"

"You're worth paying the price, Hermione."

It was important, more important than ever that he knew. "I wouldn't have charged you -"

"I know."

She inhaled shakily. Her whole body trembled. "I'll put in a favor -"

"No." He met her eyes, his stormy grays and her melting brown. "I have to do this. I can't hurt you and the world for what I want." His grown nails pinched her. "I poisoned you. You could've died. I'm selfish and reckless - always have been." He breathed slowly, "he loves you. I know you love him, too. And I know it looked like he was taking care of me, but... I was taking care of him. He's waited years for you and didn't even know it."

"I forgive you," she said.

"I know."

He pulled her to the bars, and lightly touched her lips with his. They were hardly met, the bars in their way, pressing into her hips and her shoulders. There would be no way she could be closer to Draco, and the bars were only partially to be blamed for that.

Pained, he took her face between his hands, her hands over his. "Don't wait for me, Hermione. Harry's a decent bloke."

A lump in her throat, she choked out, "I erased my parents memories. I didn't tell them, I walked downstairs and... Then I walked out." She looked hard into his eyes. "I did it to protect them. Sometimes, we do things, to prevent a tragedy or to erase one. I am not saying what you did was right, but neither was I. We made mistakes, Draco."

"Watch the Manor for me."

"What?"

"That night, I was going to ask you to move in with me. There's a key to all the rooms inside I was planning on giving to you that night."

Silently, she gaped. She didn't know what to say, except, "Draco, it's cold and carries such horrific memories for me. It's too big."

"As big as Hogwarts was I thought it felt cozy."

She chuckled, shaking her head fondly at him. "You can move in with me."

"I don't move into a house with more than one bathroom."

She rolled her eyes upward, "Draco, there is no reason to have more than one bathroom, honestly, I think you have a complex about this -"

"Sell your house," he interrupted. "I'll sell the Manor and we'll get a house together. You can throw out my cauldrons while you're at it."

"That, I may have to do." She smiled, warmed in the cold atmosphere by the thought of shopping with Draco, picking out furniture and arguing over decorations. "You're being sincere?"

"There's nothing more that I would want in this world than to move in with you, but if you're not there when I come out, then that's for the best. Take care of Harry for me." He didn't smirk, there was no trace of humor in his tone or in the dry lines of his lips.

"Two minutes," one of the guards called out to the walls.

* * *

Even with hot tears pouring, Hermione was gorgeous. All the same, it sent a sharp knife through his heart to see it. Hermione should have never known the saltiness of tears. He wiped them with balls of his thumbs and clinched her small hands in his, pulling them through against his chest. They were clamming and they slipped. He hated the island.

The bars were cursed to keep her apart. He wanted to feel her fully against him, he wanted all of her, at least one more time. There was no way he could be with her, her last encounter with Harry, his last act almost murdering her.

Suddenly he couldn't look into her watery eyes, to see the damage he stored there to slowly kill the only person he could love so completely. There was not enough good in him to replace the hurt. He was destroyed. He was nothing, and she was everything.

"Draco?" The tips of her fingers grazed the stubble on his cheek. Her dewy palms held the sides of his face as he had held hers. "Look at me, please, Draco."

He did. He cried as she wrapped her arms so tightly around him he felt that he would never breathe again.

"I forgive you."

Who knew that three words could be the end of someone? That was what it felt like, to feel the weight of remorse like a giant on your chest, to have someone give their last strength to save you, and tell you that it was okay to not be scared anymore. It was too much, and he feared he would bruise her hands. Could she feel it? The tremble that went through his body?

"I love you."

"Time's up!"

"Take Bandy home with you," he told her in a hurry. "She doesn't have anyone else."

She nodded.

"Ten seconds to leave," the guard bellowed.

It would be five years. Five whole years until he would see her face again. Hermione would move on before he would be released, but that last goodbye, that last lie of a future they would never have, it would get him through.

He exited out the door, not looking back although, like a fire, he could feel her gaze on his back. Outside he was escorted to his tower. Nothing felt real, not the frigid air and the pebbles under his bare feet. There was no color, not in the skies or in the sea. He was surrounded by dreary gray.

The clanging of his iron tower door shattered him to his knees. He kept the happiness in his head, the feel of Hermione's hands and how her hair, despite being clipped up was big, and the smile at her lips.

It wasn't strong enough to stop the thought of who she would see soon. The idea of Harry by her, smiling, touching her, and how easily it happened before. It was bound to happen again and Draco could never stop it. A force beyond his control.

He was going to go slowly insane, he was sure. His mistakes and the knowledge that he would be nowhere when he returned to the Wizarding world sent him into despair.

To nothing and no one that could possibly hear him, a message that would never get through, he pleaded, "take care of her, Harry."

* * *

Hermione leaned over the side of the boat, her hands gripping the slick railing, her feet shoulders-width apart to keep her balance, her hood whipped off her head and flying behind her. She did not bother to keep it on or control the strands of her hair that escaped her clip. They whipped about her face, a few stuck to her wet cheeks.

In an hour she would be Floo'ing home. The idea of the warm flames she would be encountering should have been calming her, but she was like the unsettling sea in the currents of winds they were in. She would be leaving without Draco. Somehow she didn't think of having to leave without him and how much it would hurt. It was constricting, like being in a confined space, unable to stretch out.

The sea and its spikes rolled her stomach but icy sprays kept her focused on reality and helped stilled her emotions. "Take care of him, God."

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

As a child Hermione's parents often took her to the museum. Almost as often as she made trips to the bookstore to further research the subjects she learned on the shiny black and bronze plaques. The whole feel of history was seeped into the bricks of the three-story building. It had curved windows, one in the top on the side facing away from the street made of green and purple stained glass.

Hermione read about it in the muggle paper, it's demolish. Her breath caught in her throat as memories flooded her mind. She couldn't allow them to tear down the memories, and she thought quickly in realization that the Wizarding world did not have a museum. It would receive one then, and so she quit her job, and in a month's time the building was Hermione's.

She enlisted Harry, Ron, Luna, George, Angelina, Neville and Ginny to help. She each gave them jobs for the day to complete, and attempted to set them in pairs, specifically not with their significant other. She would not have activity going on while there was so much to be done. She had exactly a month until it was to be open.

Hermione was never more grateful to be a witch. The others didn't share the enthusiasm, however. They groaned as she "bossed" them around. That was Ron's wording, of course.

The night before they all cleaned it Harry and George were classifying the artifacts. Hermione got a loan to buy from numerous sources and grouping them in the main room for Ron and Angelina. They were following the carefully drawn design of how she wanted the museum to look as Neville and Luna decorated the ceilings and doorways with holly and bells and fairies for the holidays as well as the permanent decorations such as the rustic walls and lighting over each section. Ginny walked with Hermione, overseeing the lot of them.

"Aren't you stretching yourself a bit thin," she asked her as they watched Ron struggle with a heavy axe used in a troll war, Angelina not daring to come near him as he swung it around.

"RON! Careful with that!" She glanced at Ginny, "I'll have a full staff of workers to take care of the place. I hardly have to be here."

"Is this because Draco's in Azkaban or because you're afraid you'll change your mind about waiting?"

She glared at her. "My mind is made up. This is because I love this museum. I didn't want to see it torn down."

Ginny must have understood in the smallest sense, for she didn't argue further. She did, however stand with her arms crossed but she soon laughed as Ron stuttered backward, the ax well above his head.

Hermione whipped out her wand. "Wingardium Levoisa!" Ron fell on his back and the ax remained above him. She moved it to the side and into the hand of the replica of a baby troll. "Ronald," she sighed.

"I'll help them, you can see about the upstairs."

Hermione nodded as Ginny aided her brother to his bumbling feet. There was a double-wide oak staircase with a scarlet runway that needed cleaning, but she hurried up to the second floor, spotting Harry and George, their directions limp at their sides, appearing to be having an interesting conversation. Harry was clearly in a state of unease while George was happily whooping.

"What is this," she asked, and Harry shuffled his feet, backing into the panel of the wall behind him.

George grinned, "Harry likes someone."

She looked to Harry who looked more like he had been hit by the Whomping Willow. He didn't seem to be breathing. "Who is it," she asked softly and curiously.

"A suspect," George howled, his hand out to the wall.

Hermione eyed him, "that's not funny, George. Is that true, Harry?" She wouldn't believe that Harry would mix business with pleasure unless she heard him from him.

He paused too long, not looking her in the eye.

"Oh, Harry, isn't that against protocol? If she's a suspect you shouldn't be involved with her."

George, who had calmed, and was wiping a tear from his eye, said, "it wasn't that long ago we were all on the Ministry's list."

"That was different," she shrilled. "The Ministry was different then, it was under the rule of Voldemort."

George flinched at the name, but she was focused back on Harry who told her, "nothing will come of it."

"I would surely think not!" She snatched the paper from George's hand and held it out in front of his face. "Get to work now, we don't have long until our opening!" She strode past them.

"Lucky you, Harry, you could have ended up with _her._"

Hermione's shoulders stiffened to her ears. "I heard that," she called behind her, hearing the boys freezing fearfully.

Ahead of her she could see that Harry and George had set up the area nicely. Floor to ceiling posters, all moving, were displayed, sorrowful and moving music from the walls playing. On the left it featured the first downfall of Voldemort, the Owls that flew in the daytime, and baby pictures of Harry with the scar on his forehead. On the right featured Voldemort's final stand. There were photos of the papers displaying the headlines, each person who had risked their lives for the cause, Lupin and Tonks, Fred and Colin Creevey among many, many others. There were photos of the survivors afterward, of the wreckage of the school.

She didn't go down that hallway, she took a left through a door that was magically barred from letting many thought and at the end of another hallway that contained personal photos and a fireplace for her visitors at the end was an archway in which met with yet another door, its handle glowing a soft blue in the sudden darkness. Up the winding staircase were four rooms.

She stood on a brown plush rug. To her left was a second fireplace, a burgundy bowl on top full of Floo Powder. There was her couch across from the television, tall bookcases surrounding them. There was the kitchen in front of her, the white tiled counters and fridge, and cooker.

Entering her room, behind door next to the couch was a double bed was set in front of the stained glass window illuminating purple and green on the white comforter, and there were two more tall bookcases on either side, and hanging from the high rafters were tiny balls of light that George placed, emitting the scent of lavender. The room was set in its ethereal ambiance of peace. She hoped Draco would like it. She had gone to the Manor to bring his belongings and placed his desk and wardrobe on his side of the bed with enough light not to hurt his eyes and not to disturb her if she was asleep.

There were soft footsteps and she turned seeing Ginny. "This is lovely," Ginny said taking in her surroundings, smiling at the balls of light above them. "George," she asked of the lights.

"Yes."

"I had him put some in my room. It smells like roses."

"It's nice that he doesn't give us something from his joke shop all the time."

"Nothing wrong with that," Ginny smiled playfully, most likely recalling last Christmas when she had received his gift of his and his late brother's Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. She had used it that night before George and Ron set off red and green fireworks in the living room. Mrs. Weasley had quite the nervous breakdown and Mr. Weasley made them swear they would not do it again.

Ginny was peering at her worriedly but Hermione didn't return her gaze. She ran her hand along the carved designs of the bedpost. It was Draco's.

"Can you wait five years?"

"I don't have a choice. I promised him I wouldn't try to shorten his sentence." Tears stung her eyes. For a month, she hadn't visited him. It was more than being too busy, it was because it was easier on the both of them. She would visit him, though, she would after Christmas with the Weasley's.

"I admire you. I couldn't do it."

"Not for Neville?"

Ginny didn't answer, either because she didn't know or she was too ashamed to say that he wasn't an exception. Hermione didn't judge her. It never crossed her mind, how difficult it would be to be with someone in Azkaban. She was eternally grateful to Harry, who kept the information about his arrest out of the ear-shots of the Daily Prophet. It was better for her career. It was not right, to wait for someone who was in Azkaban for poisoning you. Of course, the details made the situation quite different. The facet that it was a memory potion, and Draco didn't realize its flaws because of his slacking in Potions. That he tried to save her, that he put himself in Azkaban.

Bandy apparated in then, in her salmon colored dress that was the last Draco had bought for her. In her hands she held tiny frames of glasses. "Bandy found it," she happily exclaimed.

"Thank you, Bandy." She took the glasses from her, and gently laid them on Draco's desk, right on top of his book: "Broom Styles and Designs of Europe of the Ages in 963 A.D."

"Malfoy wears glasses," Ginny queried.

"To read. He says they are cumbersome, but I think he likes them."

Bandy bowed deeply, her stout nose nearly touching the floor, a habit Hermione desperately tried to end. Hermione worked tirelessly to be sure that the house-elves had their freedom and she would not be treated as though she owned Bandy. "If that is all Mistress Hermione."

"That is all, and Bandy please don't bow."

"Yes, Mistress Hermione."

"You have no need to call me Mistress," she exhaled, exhausted.

"Bandy understands." And she _popped_, a sound like a whip breaking the sound barrier.

Ginny bent at the waist, inspecting the glasses, clearly amused by the thought of Draco wearing them. "If you ever feel lonely, Hermione, feel free to Owl me. I kind of like it here."

Although Ginny was being kind, the reasoning behind it was clear. She meant to say, _do not break Harry's heart again._ Little did Ginny know, Hermione didn't reject Harry, Harry had let _her_ go. It was the self-sacrificing sort of thing he would do and she appreciated it more than she could express. Harry had no idea of her suspicion about it and she didn't plan to aware him, that Hermione knew exactly what he had done for her and for Draco.

Ginny nudged Hermione, her elbow in her arm. "Lets go give something heavy to Ron again." Ginny raced out of the room toward the stairs.

"Gin, those are important artifacts of tremendous value, do not let Ron handle them!"

* * *

By magic Harry and George moved cases of armors up the stairs to the second floor. They passed Luna telling Neville stories of her travels, and he was listening closely. Harry suspected that if Ron hadn't told Neville of his liking of Luna, Neville would have gone for her. Harry didn't know how he felt about that on Ginny's behalf, and he gave it no more thought.

"How mad would Hermione be if we tried on these armors?"

"Are you kidding," Harry asked, careful with the steps on the stairs. "Hermione nearly hexed Ron for playing with a rusty sword."

He guffawed, "thought she'd behead him with it."

Into one of the many large rooms in the building they set the armor down in a corner. Neville and Luna had already been in there, the medieval ages of Wizarding development showing in the patterns of the banners hanging down from the ceiling of lions and unicorns stitched on them.

"Do you think Hermione's barking for doing this?" He drew out his wands to set the case against the wall. It was meant to be Ron and Angelina's job but they were seeming to have a bad day.

"Yes," Harry answered watching to be sure that it did not scuff the wall.

Then, a dull gray Ministry owl flew into the room, swooping over the wizards and dropping a letter on top of Harry's head. It flew out with a single hoot, a reminder to open the letter and not throw it aside.

"If you're leaving, I'm leaving too," George warned.

Harry ripped open the envelope and unfolded the thick letter that only the officials would use.

_Harry,_

_ She's here and asking for you._

_Ben_

He felt a warmness in his chest, as though there was a single candle lit inside. He folded up the letter and stuck in his back pocket. "Have to go. I'm needed at the Ministry. Tell Hermione, will you?"  
George moaned glaring at the information booth that had to be set up. "Fine. Go."

Harry hurried out of the room, bidding goodbye's along the way. Neville held a ladder steady in a corner and Luna was hanging up some plant Harry didn't recognize but it wasn't holly. Downstairs he saw Angelina standing feet away from Ron who was bent in half, sneezing with such force it sent him reeling backward into a plant with thorns. He cried out and Angelina tried to rush him away.

He wavered at the fireplace. He didn't have time but he couldn't very well leave Ron in that state. "Need help, Angelina?"

She shook her head regretfully and sadly. She ran a hand through her black hair glistening with sweat, her dark eyes tired. "It's been a long day. He got himself into some dust bunnies. They flew up his nose."

"Hermione'll have something for it."

"I'll call her soon."

"Hang in there. Been called by the Ministry."

"Lucky," she retorted as she held Ron by the shoulders as he spasm forward, his head hit the railing and flailing backward again.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Harry didn't have the time to drop by his house to get his work cloak, his dusty jeans and T-shirt would have to do. He rushed into the Atrium, nodding to everyone who said hello and who asked how he was. He politely but hurriedly made his excuses, rushing past the gold-speckled fountain to the golden lift. It clanged shut and he noticed Ben, who beamed at him.

"She's looking good today."

Harry tried not to think about that. "What is it that she wants?"

"She says she has an alibi."

A muggle had died and Harry had two suspects, one of them _her._ There was a raising in his spirits at the idea that she was innocent.

The lift opened and Ben waved at him as he exited. Two doors down was his name embossed on the door. He entered, a black-haired woman sitting in the seat in front of his cluttered desk. He wished then that he had taken the time to clear it off.

"Ms. Asteria Greengrass," he greeted professionally. "How may I help you?"

Greengrass held out her hand, and he took it. It was thin and a little bony but her eyes were a brilliant shade of green, darker and somehow more striking than his. Her hair was slick running waves over her shoulder, her skin creamy and her lips full. Harry felt his heart could be seen hammering.

He took his seat behind his desk. "My subordinate, Mr. Nichols told me you have an alibi?"

"Yes, sir, I was at a conference with fifty officials from the Board of Directors to discuss placing a better mode of transportation for St. Mungo's."

Harry had read her information. She worked to better transport the Wizarding population through muggle London undetected. "I will need to contact those members of the board that were with you that day."

She handed him a sheet of parchment listing each of the individuals and their address. "You made my life easier," he told her.

"I'm pleased," she said surprisingly.

Harry couldn't help but stare as she stood, holding out her hand. "It was good to see you, Mr. Potter."

Many times Harry tried to recall her in Hogwarts. There were too many students and he paid little attention to the ones that were in Slytherin, as she had been. He did plenty of background information on her. Her family was friends with the Malfoys. He would have never guessed, for she treated him like he wasn't Harry Potter, the wizard who defeated the darkest wizard who had ever lived; she didn't treat him with the animosity that was expected from a pureblood Slyterherin who was friends with Mafloy's. She wasn't prejudice and he hardly knew what to make of that. She was not only attractive, but intelligent and that made her all the more attractive.

Greengrass peered at him curiously and he noted that he hadn't stood as well or had taken her hand. He rushed to do so, the back of his knees pressing his chair out scraping loudly against the floor. To his disappointment their handshake was rushed and she left him wondering what she was possibly thinking of him then.

Harry dragged his chair back to his desk and took out the copies of the folders he kept on the case in his bottom drawer. He laid them out over the clippings of newspaper articles and sample packets of coffee.

He read over his other suspect who had motive, means and opportunity. Greengrass, she only had the means and it was clear she had no motive. The muggle that had described her, he was found with chemicals on his body. He would use the contact list, but he was certain she was innocent. The best part was that proving it would be a cinch.

He would stay at the office, partly to avoid Hermione and the museum disaster and partly because he would prove Greengrass' innocence that night.

* * *

Standing in her bedroom, night approaching, everyone having left the museum, she deducted that there was something missing. She did not forget a piece of furniture or decoration. It was completed, it only lacked a certain blond man.

Her mouth was fresh, her pores tightly closed against the cool air, her hair tied in a high ponytail. She chose comfy flannel pajamas and she couldn't delay any longer in going to bed. She wanted to sleep in the room for the first time with Draco, not by herself. She wanted it to be theirs, but as close as she could be with him that night was with his things mingled with hers. A beauty she didn't realize before.

Draco loved black, he said it went best with his fair hair and she would have to agree. Her things were light and more colorful, and somehow it fit together. It was intimate, like the way she thought of their clothes lying on the bed together, or how their legs and fingers intertwined, and the way his cloak felt around her shoulders, pooling at her feet.

Opa hooted from her perch. Hermione frowned.

She felt terribly guilty for not visiting him in Azkaban. It must be horrible for him, for after all, the tower didn't even contain one bathroom much less two. He was alone and winter was arriving. The stone walls would freeze him.

She sat at his desk, running her hands over the smooth black painted wood. She picked up his quill, large and elegant, bulky between her fingers. She dipped it into the pot of ink, and began writing. She wrote the first thing that came to her mind, something that would be more appreciative to Draco who disliked ongoing formalities that were only used in meetings where no one truly cared.

_Dear Draco,_

_ Do you remember our first date? You took me to Magische Artifiacts in Germany. It was the best date I had ever been on. I know it sounds soon but I think I began falling in love with you that day. I remember the exact moment, too. There was the levitating plaque that detected a person's eye-level, and when we both approached it, it chose your height first. You pushed it down and lowered your head to mine for us both to read._

_ You were right when you said I was taking the easy way out. I was unafraid in what you were but I was afraid of myself, of how easily it was to be with you after all you've done. I'm sorry, Draco. We both deserve better than what we have given each other._

_ Bandy is doing well. She misses you greatly. She has a room that she decorated in pink. It was a joy to see her so happy about it. I assure you she is well taken care of._

_ I'm waiting for you._

_Love, Hermione_

She placed the quill down, folding the parchment three times. Opa glided over, hoping near her. She gave it to her, and opened the side window for her to fly into the night. It was a long trip; Opa wouldn't return that night. Hermione closed the window to prevent a further chill through the room.

Hermione pulled back the thick covers and paused. She stared at the side that Draco would sleep on. Always on the right side, nearest the door. His wand would be there above his head, always close. He would be turned to her, his leg over hers, his nose in her hair. That was how they slept and she wondered then how she ever slept without him.

She slipped into bed and waved her wand for the lights to turn off. Her eyes attempted to quickly adjust and to help them, she turned to the window. There was nothing to see but sky and faceless buildings in the far distance. She turned away from it, unable to see a free landscape when she felt trapped inside. She pressed the spare pillow against her back and pretended with all of her might that she wasn't alone.

It was not an easy sleep that night, in a new place to be shared with someone who was far away. Her heart was hollow.

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

It was an early morning on Harry's day off. The sun shone on the crisp white snow around his house and lit the inside brilliantly, thoroughly waking him. It was a good start to the day. In all the days he had missed chasing after Hermione he fully made up for it in the month where he had caught a dozen Death Eaters. He decided to spend half of his day de-gnoming his garden and taking Asteria out for dinner. He thought of a nearby Wizarding park, casting a cone of warmth, and had asked Ginny to help him actually pack the picnic basket. Never in his life had he been on one. The Dursley's never liked dirty things and even if they did he doubted he'd ever be invited. He was unsure what was proper to bring. Did wizards have different rules for picnics? That was why he asked Ginny to come.

However, she had come early, and de-gnoming the garden was suddenly put on the back hob.

"It is unethical!" She raved, her arms in the air, her hands slamming down on her thighs as she walked in front of Harry, meeting him by the kitchen. "Doesn't this go against a code of yours?"

"You sound like Hermione," he told her.

"Hermione is right this time," she said, which caused him to laugh, because Hermione was nearly always right. Ginny just didn't agree with the strict rules she supported.

Harry rolled his eyes at her, "why do you care so much, Gin?" He brought their empty mugs to the basin with the others worth three days he had failed to wash. He was beginning to regret placing Ginny on the "allow" list in the Floo Network. He had woken that morning still feeling like he was walking on air from his late night contacting everyone on Greengrass' list, and every one of them had checked out. Ginny had been jerking him down from the clouds since he walked into his lounge that morning, her feet propped up on the coffee table with the Daily Prophet until she spotted him and went into a rage of what George had told her.

"She's not a suspect anymore," he assured her. "Ben met up with the other one and he confessed. He's awaiting trial. Not that I'm supposed to tell you any of this," he warned her.

Ginny folded her arms across her chest, her eyes alit. He knew that look all too well, as she had given it to him many times when he didn't tell Hermione the truth about Draco and the potion. But then, the glare faded, and her arms were wrapped around his neck in a tight squeeze off-balancing him to a stumble and forcing him to catch the counter with his fingertips. Lost in what she was thinking, he caught up and squeezed her shoulders right as she pulled away.

"Good for you, Harry."

He shook his head, not grasping what she was referring to.

"Good for you. You let go of her. I know how much you loved her."

In his heart, there was a twinge. Confusion laid in whether it was guilt or truth. He admitted to Ginny, the woman he considered a sister since he saved her from Voldemort in her First Year, and said, "I do still love her."

Once more, Ginny waved her arms in the air and returned to the living room. Dramatically she plopped herself down on the couch in a low slump. "Harry... Why? I know - Hermione's great, we all love her, but... It's over. You let her go."

Harry pressed his fingers to his scar, something he hadn't done in ages. It wasn't because it was hurting, but because his head felt on the edge of a throb. He leaned back against the door siding, it pressing close to his spine. "Draco and her, they make sense in a bizarre sort of way."

He looked at her and thought of Asteria, where she grew up, how she grew up; everything about her that he read in her profile. Under the bright lighting that his two windows gave, he never imagined he could like someone through a piece of paper and photo. Just as quietly, he said, "it doesn't have to make sense."

Ginny, whose eyes were averted, glued to the reflection of the television, hushed, "I know." She did know, just as much as him, because Neville had always been her friend, much like Hermione had been his.

"Christmas will be here soon." Sighing, she heaved herself off the couch and came close to him, her head tilted up. "What are we going to do about it?"

* * *

Cross-legged on her lounge floor, Hermione wrapped Bandy's present. It was a brand new dress, a shimmery emerald one. She folded it gently and tucked it into the small box tapped with the same shade of green and completed it with a gold bow just as shiny as the present inside. It was the last gift she had to wrap and she set it aside, pushing it underneath the tree in the corner by the bookcase with all the others, most of the pile belonging to the Weasley's.

A branch that stuck out the farthest touched the window pane. On the tip of its branch was a glass round ornament and inside was the scene of her beach, of her house, the waves crash, and the skies rolling in the top.

Outside of her window the snow fell harder than ever. The landscape in her expansive garden was covered in pure layers of it. It was beautiful and she felt warm and comfortable. She considered hot cocoa, but remember solemnly, that she would be drinking it alone. Hermione didn't like being alone. Many only children experienced it but never grew accustomed, especially when they had found someone they wanted to spend their life with.

Distracting herself she scooted past the window and closer to the tree. It was real, and self-maintaining, grooming itself, the nettles disappearing as they fell, and the sap drying and vanishing as it leaked. She was going to insist on a muggle tree until Ron talked her out of it. He didn't understand why she would want to spend more time with a muggle tree than one that had been bewitched. She couldn't explain to him that she wanted her time took up, to stop thinking about a place farther away and far more colder. It was just as well though, she had plenty of work to suffice.

In another ornament there were clumps of trees, the green bright in the sun. The Forest of Dean, where she had spent camping with her parents and where she stayed with Harry during the hunt for Horcruxes.

There was another ornament that showed Hogwarts. It was rare to have an image captured in a globe like the one she had. McGonagall had done her a great favor. Hermione held Hogwarts, the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, and the Quidditch pitch all in the palm of her hand. It was like home. A home she moved away from but stayed forever close in her heart.

The miniature Hogwarts fell from her fingers and swayed back and forth, not moving the rippling lake with the tentacle poking out, not disturbing Hagrid's hut billowing smoke. It remained picturesque.

Hermione laid on her back, her foot touching a box. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that the box was wrapped in a teal, a note card on it numbering it, "one." She would number each of Draco's gifts. When he came back she would hand them to him in order. That one in particular he would love. It was a rare Quidditch set, spelled to a smaller size to fool him. She couldn't very well hand him a gift shaped like a broom, that wouldn't be very secretive at all.

An ornament tapped against her knee. Inside she could see her childhood room. Posters on the wall of muggle movies, books stacked in her bookshelf, on top of her flower-painted desk, a small collection next to her bed.

Childhood innocence. Before Hogwarts and magic, Harry and Ron, before terror and worries... Before Draco.

The snow had lightened considerably, dusting past her window. They were not flakes but white, a curtain of dust. It was harder to see outside but perhaps it all looked the same. Everlasting white. She felt more closed in than ever, never farther away from Draco. She turned her face, her nose buried in her own hair. The scent of her coconut shampoo was still strong. She remembered how he loved it so.

"Merry Christmas Eve, Draco."

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

The wind was blowing snow in all directions, swirls of white like mini hurricanes. Hermione, cozy in her warm but empty bed watching from the inside dreaded going out. It wasn't the cold that she was thinking of, it was the happy atmosphere of the Weasley's that she was going to attend. However, it was tradition, and her parents were renewing their honeymoon in Greece. And so, Hermione dragged herself out of her bed, and dressed in her thickest jeans and her plum violet jumper Mrs. Weasley knitted her last year. She would be expecting another one that year, as every year.

Pulling her hair up in a high ponytail she spotted Bandy was waiting for her in the lounge by the tree, bouncing on the balls of her heels excitedly. "Bandy was up at dawn, Hermione. Bandy is happy. Today is Christmas!"

Hermione knelt and hugged the tiny elf to her. "Merry Christmas, Bandy."

"Happy Christmas Hermione!"

Letting her go she brought her present to her. "For you," she told her.

Bandy's eyes shimmered in tears as glistening as the paper that she was gently tearing off. She lifted the box and she emitted the tiniest choked squeak. "A new dress! Bandy loves it, Hermione. Bandy will wear it all the time!"

"Go put it on," Hermione urged, happy to see the elf loved it so.

Bandy hurried off to the kitchens where there was a large storage space that Bandy claimed as hers. In minutes where Hermione tightened the band around her hair and picked lint off of her jumper she waited. Then Bandy came forth, twirling around in the dress.

"You're lovely, Bandy." She kissed the top of her head to complete the sentiment.

The previous night she had placed all of her gifts into a giant red bag. She lugged it over her shoulder by its white strap. Bandy waved, her hand a blur, and she _popped_ over to the Weasley's. Hermione ducked into the fireplace, swirling in the fire, stepping out to see the interior of the Burrow's lounge, setting her bag under the old reusable and damaged tree with the rest of the mountain of presents.

It was warm with all the people and love. While there was nothing like spending Christmas with her parents, there was indeed nothing like spending Christmas with the Weasley's, all the happenings and cheeriness and the delicious smell of food.

Bandy climbing on the arm of the couch greeted infant Victoire in Fleur's arms, Ginny leaning over with slurs of words of baby-talk. Hermione said hello too to Fleur and cooed over the chubby-cheeked baby, lightly touching the red curls. It was not the first time she had seen Fleur's baby, as she had been at the hospital giving a teddy bear, that Ron eyed with curiosity. She remembered how Fred had turned his into a spider when he was three.

"She's beautiful, Fleur," Hermione whispered. It was something that needed to be said again, for it was very true. The baby was young but it was obvious that it was her mother's ethereal glow she had inherited but she was pink with the ginger from her father.

"Zenk you."

"Where are the boys," she asked Ginny but she didn't answer as there was a huge outburst that sounded exactly like Mrs. Weasley's.

"OUT! THIS IS FOR DINNER! OUT! DON'T TOUCH THAT PIE, GEORGE! RONALD, I'M WATCHING YOU!"

Hermione giggled as Mr. Weasley, George, Bill, Charlie, Ron and Neville backed out of the kitchen, their hands raised, face full of fear, Ron's eyebrows disappeared in his hairline.

"Bonkers, mum is. Every year!"

Hermione placed her hands on her hips. "You could not try to eat before dinner."

"I'm hungry," he complained.

She looked around, "where are the girls?"

"Oh, erm, they didn't get thrown out. They're in the kitchen still."

"Harry's in there, I suppose?"

Ron was amused by that, "Harry's a girl?"

"Ron," she complained, and George nudged her in her arm playfully as he passed, Teddy on his hip, "he had a business run."

"It's Christmas!"

Bill sat next to his wife, taking baby Victoire from her arms. "Not all dark wizards take a holiday. Harry's the head of his department, I'd think he'd very well should be there."

She understood, but Harry had done quite a lot for the department. He had accomplished more in his life than the load of them, and if there was something he should enjoy, it was Christmas with family. After all, he didn't have the Christmas' they had as children.

George passed Teddy to her who giggled and garbled and tangled his fingers in her hair. She smiled, taking his small hand in hers. His hair turned from patches of red and green (to imitate the strung balls of light floating around that had to be George's doing) to a boring brown, like hers. It was the sweetest thing and she grinned, seeing Lupin's brown eyes in his.

"He'll be here, mum won't start without him. Ron'll bring him back if he has to."

"Happy to," he mumbled, contorted in a glare as George was setting up a game of wizard chess beside the fireplace.

Sitting beside Ron, Teddy yawning and leaning against her arm to sleep she watched the match between the brothers. She attempted to help Ron, if nothing else to keep her mind occupied, and she was very sure where that knight was supposed to be, but he fussed.

"_Hermione_, you're not helping!"

A flower dress brushed against her arm and Luna was standing beside her, peering down at the board interestingly. "I do think you're mistaken Hermione. The knight should go this way."

Ron took her advice, and the knight was smashed by his opponent. Ron glowered up at his girlfriend who merely shrugged. George whooped as the pieces of the knight were swept off the board by the little pieces and he invited Luna to sit on his side.

An hour later dinner was called. They all joined inside, crushed together around the table. Hermione was squashed between Ginny and Angelina. George and Ron were shoving against each other, causing a domino effect of being pushed. Ron's face was red from the match he nearly lost, much less being able to breathe properly. Luna was nearly on Ron's lap, but neither of them seemed to mind. Neville had to put his arm around Ginny's shoulders as Charlie situated his chair, crushing his fingers and cursing.

The only two that were not uncomfortable were the two children. Victoire was asleep in her cob in a room upstairs, and Teddy woke long enough to sit straight in Hermione's lap, tearing apart a bun.

"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley exclaimed softly. "Arthur, we'll have to come up with a better solution next year."

Hermione suspected that Mrs. Weasley wasn't too upset about it. She was glad for the large family, of how happy they all were. Except, there was an vacant seat. Charlie, his fanged earring dangling, moved it out to a corner and all of them breathed more comfortably. However, it seemed to Hermione that none of them expected Harry to show up. She wondered where he was. He never missed Christmas with the Weasley's.

The food was as good as it smelled. They laid on her stomach like rocks. The bacon, turkey, roast potatoes and cranberries. There were also crackers from George's shops and all of them were gifted with crowns and mini-chess sets and sometimes little white mice that scurried off quickly before Mrs. Weasley could scream and Mr. Weasley could capture.

They drifted into the lounge where they settled on the couch and chairs and the floor. It was more roomy and all of them appreciated that. Mrs. Weasley happily read out the first name of the present, one belonging to Charlie, but Hermione interrupted.

"Harry's not here yet."

Mrs. Weasley hesitated and sighed. "We can't wait for him much longer Hermione. He'll be here soon and we'll all stay for him, right?" She strictly pierced each of her children who all nodded.

The large present was given to Charlie, a dragon emblazoned jumper, and the events went on.

Hermione received a small library and a new purple jumper. Nearly all the gifts were handed out, and she alone seemed to be missing Harry. It just wasn't Christmas without him. It increased the wound in her chest.

"OH! Dad this is brilliant!" It was a plaque of Ginny's last victory in Quidditch containing a lacquered snippet of the Daily Prophet.

There was a knock, barely heard over the exclamations and lively chatter in the room. Neville reached oddly from his place, a bunch of crinkled wrappers in his lap, a new cap on his head from Ginny and he opened the door. Hermione's heart leapt as Harry came in, shaking off the snow from his shoulders and pounding it from the crevices of his boots on the dirty mat.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said relieved from her post by the tree with her granddaughter in her arms. "I'm sorry, dear, we couldn't wait."

"I understand, Mrs. Weasley. It took longer than I hoped."

Teddy cried out from Ginny's lap and stretched out his arms for him. Harry came in and took him, balancing him on his hip, his eyes catching Hermione's. "I have gifts for everyone but Hermione, you first." He stepped aside from the open door.

A thin cloaked man walked in, his hands the embodiment of winter, ice cold and pale. Then she realized it _was _winter, as he threw off his hood revealing who it was. The pointed face of the man she loved more than life and Christmas and work and studying.

Hermione jumped up and ran to Draco, throwing herself on him shamelessly. His arms were tightly around her waist, tightly in her hair.

Light-headed when they parted, she drunk in his face. There was a glint of pain but he otherwise looked whole. But it was brief, for she looked for Harry among the cat-calls from George and blushing Ron and to Harry, who smiled at her sadly but it was a smile all the same. She smiled back, feeling Draco's arms around her waist.

"Thank you," she mouthed.

* * *

Teddy's red hair became as black as Harry's as he looked up admiringly. Harry gave him attention, handing him the gift he kept in his pocket, a stuffed Hippogriff, which was hugged tightly to his chest, his face illuminating. It was better than seeing Hermione and Draco, both of them glowing. It was something he wasn't quite prepared for, but he would get there. He had all the time in the world.

In the meantime he greeted everyone, exchanged gifts, and thought of his date with Asteria. They spilled the wine on the blanket; they were too caught up in their conversation to realize too late that the charm had worn off and they were freezing; snow tumbling on their picnic. It was somehow ideal, finding shelter in a gazebo, their very first kiss that left his heart weightless.

Everything quieted then as the ambiance focused in on Neville who was bent at the knee, holding Ginny's hand in his. He presented her with a gold ring between his fingers, and Ginny was on top of him, toppling them to the floor. He heard her say yes between a fiery kiss.

Once the ring was on, the girl's congratulated her, Mrs. Weasley embracing her daughter and tearing Neville away from the claps on his back and hand-shaking to be hugged too, a little too constricting from what Harry could tell.

Harry nodded to Neville, giving a one-arm hug when Mrs. Weasley faced her daughter, weeping. "Congratulations, mate."

"Thanks. Thanks."

Not meaning to, he caught a glimpse of Hermione and Draco, Draco's arms still around her, peering down into her eyes. It was intimate and Harry looked away.

Draco had been angry at first, when Harry arrived, the door unlocking on his cell. He was furious into a silence as they crossed the ocean the night before. He didn't even sing in the shower and he returned in Harry's clothes with that same scowl.

"I did it for Hermione, not for you," he had told Draco.

For reasons beyond him, the scowl was gone at those words, and Draco didn't argue, he didn't pretend to be mad. He asked for the tele to be on and they sat, Harry explaining the show that was on; the muggle devices they were using, and how the point of the show was to be funny, an actor dressed as a woman, a mother, and running into cockeyed problems. It had been a Christmas miracle that Draco didn't say a word about muggles the entire show.

While Harry had brought him back for Hermione's sake only, he saw Draco as a changed man then.

"I'm dating Asteria Greengrass," Harry confided in him.

Draco had beamed. "Did you like the manor?"

"What?"

"She bought the manor. Got the papers yesterday."

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

As quiet as he could be, Harry stood outside of the kitchen. He peeked in at her, at Asteria. She was moving her hips in time with the music that was playing on the wireless, music that he couldn't decipher from how her feet moved, her hair loose above her waist. The way her nightdress moved with her, the hem elongating her legs... He was certain he had never seen anyone more captivating, he felt that he was on the verge of losing his mind due to her.

It was nice, to wake to the sound of music, knowing she was dancing as she did every morning over breakfast, the scent of coffee and bacon. He could lie in bed and think about the night before, how fantastic it was and it all waiting for him.

She swung around, her hair flying over her forehead like a circlet, and Harry, who was too focused on those hips didn't realize that she was watching him. He caught himself but she was grinning and the room was brighter than it was before.

Asteria had been waiting for her coffee to pour, when the last drip had dropped she handed him the mug, placing hers underneath and pressing the red button. The noise wasn't nearly as loud as the music, which she turned down.

"Go on, Harry. You'll be late for work."

He nodded, kissing her lips. They tasted of cherry. Cherry and blossoms, but her hair, it smelled of his shampoo. He decided he liked that best. It was better than it being used by Draco.

"Go on," she laughed softly.

His hand gripped his briefcase, not wanting to go to work but to stay with her all day. Yet, she had work too. He took a sip of his coffee. "Did you sell the manor," he asked. It was a lengthy discussion they had after Draco informed him, for he didn't want her to get attached to a place that he would never move in to (the memory of Hermione's screams still rung). They were not planning such a step in the near future, but the idea was clear when everyone surrounding them was. It became a necessary point.

"Theodore Nott bought it. He was so happy. He always preferred Draco's house to his."

Again, he nodded. He didn't care who bought it as long as he never had to cross his mind to move there.

"I know," she said, in the way she did. Harry never had to say what he was thinking, because she somehow knew. She didn't press, she let him be. It was an unnatural way to his life that he loved enough to grace her with truth.

"Hermione was tortured there."

"Then I don't want it," she said simply and just like that, the subject was changed. "Tonight," she asked.

"Tonight," he promised. They had dinner every night, one night at his place the next at hers. He planned to leave work early that night to make her a grand dinner, better than the one he had last time, where he had arrived late with Chinese.

Her eyes sparkled, and it was what remained on his mind as he Floo'd to the Ministry.

* * *

"You're going to kill me!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Do you not trust me," she asked?

Draco held his hands out in front of him as she guided him by his shoulders.

"It's not normal to blindfold someone, Hermione."

"I want you to be surprised, and you would've peeked through your fingers."

When they reached the steps of the museum, she let him pull her flowered scarf down. He stared up at the large building, at the arched oak doors. Then, he looked at her.

"What is this?"

"It's our home."

He peered back at the building. "You couldn't have chosen this. This has to have more than one bathroom."

She laughed. In such a light spirit, she found herself laughing much more. "It's a museum, like the one we visited in Germany." She explained the rest, of how it was once a muggle museum that she visited as a child.

Draco inspected the museum with the same expression as he had with the one in Germany. Hermione was aware that it was the unreadable expression he used when he was thinking anything over. It slightly annoyed her as she had never been good with reading anyone, except the guilt of Harry and Ron's - and that was only because she had plenty of practice at it.

She led him upstairs, giving him an official tour guide. She told him about each of the artifacts she acquired, their history, and their importance in their time. As they reached a helmet with a arrow that struck inside of its weakest point in a war that she she never finished telling him about. He tugged her to him, her hip bumping his, and he brought his head down to her cheek, his breath breezing by her lips. So close.

"Show me the gold," he whispered to her.

"We don't have gold here, Draco," she whispered back. It was meaningless as they were the only ones in the whole museum. It would open the next day, Draco to be there when it did.

"Show me what you want me most to see."

Hermione slipped her fingers between his and leaded him out of the room, taking a right, and then a left, and down the hallway. She opened a couple of doors, him following, finally with an expression of piqued interest. She hadn't told him what laid upstairs for them.

Through the final door she freed his hand and stepped to the side for him to take in. He spotted her couch and their books, he spotted her owl, gave a glare and set off into the bedroom. Silently she trailed behind him.

His hand touched the corner of his desk and he saw a book of hers on the corner nightstand on her side. He turned, his eyes full of an emotion that sent her into a slight panic. It was bad enough that he was unreadable, but when he placed a strong emotion in his eyes that was only strength and depth and something else eluding, it was terrifying.

"You don't like it," she asked worriedly.

He smiled, always proud of how he could take her off guard. "Not as much as I love you." Behind her shoulder she saw he was staring at his broomstick, the highest quality, from his line of course. "How are we going to run a museum with our other jobs?"

"I quit my job."

"I thought you loved it..."

"Not as much as I love this."

Draco sat on the edge of the bed wearily. "I love you," he breathed. "I messed up but I've never stopped loving you. I'll never let you down again."

Between his legs she stood, her hands on his shoulders. "Welcome home, Draco."

In a lightening flash move he grabbed her, swinging her underneath him, towering over her. His hips were digging into hers, pressing her into the bed. His hair, the tips to his cheekbones touched her forehead, tickling her. "You can do better than that," he teased, attacking her neck setting her of in a fit of giggles.

It didn't make sense, but then again, very little in Hermione's life made sense. She had to conform with the fact that not everything was written down, emotions couldn't be pinned. Her life with Draco, it was not based in logic. She was okay with that. He was magic, the most illogical, flawed and beautiful kind.

* * *

A/N: This was the original ending that I hoped you enjoyed. I didn't separate the chapter into posts because frankly, it spans back to chapter 20 and then onward and it seemed a bit repetitive. So forgive me for that.

Thanks and love.


End file.
